


Stigmata

by SaintHeretical



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Religious, Bible talk, F/M, Gore, M/M, Magical Realism, Nuns, Oral Sex, Pentecostals, Priests, Roman Catholicism, Slow Burn, Ultra Slow Burn, literal Sin Bin, nun kink, pastors, sex in chapels, spoiler alert- there's actual sex now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 112,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6280714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintHeretical/pseuds/SaintHeretical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen years after tragedy tore them apart, a priest and his sister band together to protect a homeless girl who appears to have been touched by God. Too bad his excommunicated nephew seems to have other plans for her.</p><p>A Reylo slow burn Modern/Religious AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pneuma

_“911, where is your emergency?”_

Pain.  
  
Everything is pain.

From the blinding white light behind her eyes to the deep, almost numb throbbing at her wrists and feet, Rey’s body is a live wire of burning agony. Nausea and shock crowd around the edges of her consciousness, vying for attention, threatening to make her vomit or black out before she can make the call.

But she’s strong. She takes a shallow, gasping breath and tries to still her chattering teeth. “I-I don’t remember.” She winces, struggling to prop herself up enough to reach the handset of the barely functioning payphone. “I think I’m downtown...by the stadium, I think.”

_“What is the emergency?”_

The ground around her is sticky with coagulating blood and judging from the size of the puddle it’s a damn _miracle_ she’s still lucid.

 “I’m- I’m hurt. Bleeding. A lot.”

_“Has someone hurt you, Miss?”_

The city is dark and quiet around her, save for the odd rumble of traffic in the distance. Rey can’t see anyone through her blurring, bloody vision, and worst of all, she can’t remember anything _._ Her teeth start chattering again. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I just woke up and now I’m bleeding. Please help me.”

_“We’re on our way miss. Stay with me. What are your injuries?”_

She stares down at the mess of her wrists and feet. Each appendage is marked by a dark gaping wound about the diameter of a nickel, dribbling with chunks of skin and clots of blood. There’s also a dull pain in her side, but she can’t check the damage because her fingers don’t seem to want to work very well any more. She’s fine otherwise, whether bleeding from all extremities could really constitute as fine, but the amount of blood loss is rapidly catching up to her, and she sways perilously, leaning her entire weight against the plexiglass of the phone booth.

“I’m just bleeding, okay? I’m bleeding.” Her voice sticks in her throat. “Please, help me. I can’t-“

The black finally crowds out her vision, and she slumps to the concrete bottom of the payphone. The last thing she hears is a wailing siren in the distance.

_“Miss? Miss, are you okay?”_

_“Miss? We’re on our way.”_

_“It’s going to be alright.”_

*

“Mrs. Solo?”

Leia jolts awake, and immediately winces as her back pops. The astringent smell of hospital rushes up her nostrils, making her wince with disgust. “It’s back to Organa now, actually,” she mumbles, more out of habit than anything.

The nurse nods. “I apologize. Ms. Organa, the doctor wants to let you know that the patient is in stable condition. She’s in room 7, in the south-west ward of the hospital.”

“Oh good,” Leia says, her voice gravelly with sleep. “Has the priest been called?”

“He’s on his way right now, but there’s no rush. Dr. Watts wants to keep her under for a while to facilitate healing.”

Leia nods and the nurse scurries away. She’s been crammed into the orange vinyl chair for almost three hours now waiting for the doctors to stabilize the Jane Doe they brought in at 2 AM this morning. Normally the hospital staff wouldn’t call Leia in until the patient was ready to be discharged, but one eagle eyed orderly noticed some unusual markings on the girl, markings that would warrant a call to the director of Catholic Social Services.

Leia’s spent a lot of time in this hospital. She’s cared for the elderly and prayed over the dying, but by far the worst task has been the one that brings her here tonight.  Nothing in her almost thirty years of practice and ministry can ever fully prepare her for the heartache of dealing with a young person from the street. Often it’s the resignation that tears her up the most; the absolute stubbornness that some youths have to cling to their self destructive lifestyle, to control the only things they really can.

With no small effort, she hoists herself out of the chair and grabs her purse.  Marching down to room 7SW, she’s struck by the relative calm of the emergency department. It’s as if a gentle fog has settled through the ward, blurring the normal hysteria to a gentle buzz at the back of her brain. She turns left down the hall and spots the slightly open door, where the doctor seems to be waiting for her. He spots her and smiles.

She gives him a slight nod as she enters the room. “Dr. Watts.”

“Ms. Organa, thank you so much for coming in at this late hour.”

He closes the door behind her, and they both turn to look at the patient.

Leia is initially struck with her _innocence,_ of all things. Despite the obvious trappings of a girl from the street, this young lady has an air of sweetness about her, a peace and beauty that clings to her form like a perfume. Leia’s hand itches to stroke her face, to _mother_ her, and it’s only Dr. Watts’s gentle cough that breaks her from her study of the mysterious young woman.

“Oh yes of course, it’s no problem. Just part of my job.” She flexes her fingers and adds, “I hope you don’t mind that a priest is coming in as well? We were told this is a special case.”

 The doctor purses his lips and glances down at the chart. “Cynthia mentioned it. She’s the one who called you, with my permission of course. She said there was something unusual about the girl’s wounds...a religious significance?”

Leia’s heart flutters in her chest, but she keeps her voice steady. “Religious? I was told that it wasn’t the average suicide attempt, but I don’t understand what you mean by religious wounds.”

It’s a lie, of course, but it’s all she can do to not get her hopes up.

“See for yourself.”

Dr. Watts passes her the chart then steps back, arms crossed. Leia flips through the first few pages until she rests on the poorly printed police pictures closer to the end of the file. Even through the graininess, she can make out the telltale signs; clean edged holes at the wrist and feet, a bruising puncture wound on her side; faint scratches around her forehead.

“Oh my.”

“Now you’re interested,” the doctor murmurs. “I was told you had a relative who suffered from similar injuries. Was that ever resolved?”

“In a sense,” she breathes, eyes flitting from the chart to the unconscious girl lying before her. “But also not.”

Sensing the defensive purpose of her vagueness, Dr. Watts responds. “I understand. No need to explain.” He chews on his lip for a moment before he adds, a bit uneasily, “You know you are always welcome here...”

“...but this is a public establishment,” Leia finishes. “I’ve been told, many times in fact. I assure you, Doctor, I’m not here to push my agenda. I’m never here to push my agenda. I just want to help people.”

“I realise this, of course. It’s only a formality. We just don’t need things to get too intense here. As soon as the priest is called, people start worrying, asking questions. Things start...escalating.”

“It’s not like that with him, you know that.” She slides the chart into its holder at the foot of the bed and turns to face the doctor. “You know he’s not going to start anything. It’s not like it used to be.” 

He fixes Leia with a pointed stare. “ _He’s_ really not the one we’re worried about in these sorts of situations.”

Her face flushes. “I’m guessing you’re probably not referring to me either. Well, let me assure you that _that_ problem is far too busy to concern himself with a young homeless youth tonight. Far bigger fish to fry in his universe.”

Shaking his head, Dr. Watts turns to leave. “If you say so. Anyhow, please buzz one of the nurses if anything changes. And do rest assured that we appreciate everything you and your team do here.”

“You’re just cautious, I understand. This is a place of healing, not the set of _Family Feud_.”

Leia smiles at the doctor as he leaves, then turns back to look over the girl. Her chart indicated no ID, and there was no sign of her in the hospital’s records.  

“So young,” Leia murmurs.

 She loses herself in a calm meditative prayer until the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, making her aware of another presence in the room. She glances over her shoulder at the elderly bearded man who has just entered the room and nods.

“What do you think, Father?”

The priest flips through the chart, face impassive but blue eyes bright, and then gazes over the girl. She’s barely into adulthood, but already her body is marked by the signs of hard living; thin, sinewy limbs, shaggy hair and nails, scars riddling her arms and legs. There’s no visible track marks, per say, but the bruising around her nose indicates a possibility of drug use. He sighs.

“She’s in rough shape, there’s no denying it.” He clears his throat and continues placidly. “It looks like she’s been on the street for quite a while. We’ll most likely need to put her into rehab, and then the program afterwards.”

Shaking her head, Leia scoffs. “Obviously, but that’s not why I called you. You know what I mean, Luke. What do you think about the marks? In the pictures?”

“I honestly don’t know what you want me to say.” He backs against the wall and closes his eyes, deep in thought.

Leia is unconvinced. “Really. You don’t know? That’s it?” She clenches her jaw. “You’re the only person I know of who has really seen these sorts of marks before. At least the only one who is still alive.”

Luke scrunches up his face with frustration. “What do you want me to say then, Leia? That they look like the marks Dad had?”

“Well yeah. Tell me the truth. Are they...?”

She lets the question hang there, too heavy to complete. The obnoxiously loud wall clock ticks like ametronome, counting the seconds of awkward silence until finally Luke finishes the statement.

“Stigmata.”

Leia’s heart pounds just hearing the word, and she knows Luke is excited too, even if he doesn’t express it.  “Yes. Do you think the marks could be stigmata?”

“Well, that depends. I can’t actually see them right now, and even if I could, my only in-person frame of reference came from someone who didn’t even think they were real.”

“But...”

“Leia, come on.” Luke pushes away from the wall, jostling the blinds that shield the room from the hospital hallway. “What are you even doing here? What are _we_ doing here? This girl isn’t even awake, and we’re already trying to determine whether or not she has been touched by God. Let’s be reasonable here. The most likely case is that she’s a regular street rat who got caught up in a bad deal. Tried to steal from the wrong drug lord or something. Either that or she just got sick of it all, attempted suicide, and then regretted it halfway through. That’s why we’re really here, isn’t it? That’s why they call us in.”

“But how do you explain her condition? The nurse said she lost over 2 quarts of blood, but she was still able to call in to 911 _unassisted_!”

“Leia, why does it matter?” The old priest waves his hand in his sister’s direction. “You’re just asking for trouble at this point. How can you even be thinking about signs and miracles after what happened to our family?”

Sighing, Leia slumps down into another vinyl chair, this one a faded seafoam green. She pats the armrest of the chair next to her until Luke stalks over and sits down as well. Shooting her brother a meaningful look, she gently rubs a circular pattern into his right hand with her left.

“Dad was sick and he didn’t know what to do. None of us did,” she says in a low, soothing voice. “It wasn’t the marks that hurt him, it was his own fear. His sin. You studied and went to school so that we could work on understanding all of this, and so that you could help us.”

Luke lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Oh, like how I helped Ben?”

“Ben had too much of Dad in him. Too much ambition... stuff like that is wholly incompatible with our faith.”

“But you think this girl, this Jane Doe. You think she’s been marked.”

She smiles at him, and the corners of her eyes crinkle so much it makes his heart pound. It reminds him of before; before their dad died, before her husband left, before everything happened with Ben.

“I think she’s more than an underaged prostitute with a self-harm problem,” she quips. “I can feel something, Luke. It’s like my faith is waking up after a long sleep. I look at that girl, and He speaks to me, He tells me she’s special.”

Luke rubs his tired eyes with his hands and looks up at the girl again. She’s barely-there slip of a thing, with nothing discernibly special about her, but he does admit that he feels it to. The slightest whisper of _pneuma,_ of the Spirit, of the presence that he thought had abandoned their family the night Ben left.

_Ben._

Leia taps his hand and fixes him with a mournful look, her brown eyes glassy with emotion. “What do you say, Luke? What do you think?”

“I just don’t know.” He pulls his hand from hers and moves to fiddle with his starched collar, sliding the white plastic back and forth across his neck. It’s a bad habit he picked up in school, and it always pops up when he feels torn, as if he suddenly regrets the great commitment to the Church that he made in his youth. “I- I have a bad feeling about this.”

Her heart sinks. He never used to be cautious, her bright, happy brother with the childish naiveté and winning smile. But time breaks all men, and it certainly broke Luke more than most.

She sounds out her concession slowly, each word like a lead weight on her tongue. “Well, you still have some time.”

As if startled, Luke stands suddenly. He smoothes his robes with his hands and cracks his knuckles one at a time, making Leia wince. “You’re right,” he announces, more to himself than to her. “This is not a decision to make at five in the morning. Let me mull it over, pray about it, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Luke, no.” She instantly regrets giving him time, giving him an out to escape back into his own little world of legalism and rigidity. “You always say you’ll get back to me, and you never do. Please, can’t we bring this girl into the community and give her a family, at least? It doesn’t have to be a big thing. I just don’t want to lose her.”

“Come on. You don’t need me. You’ve always been better at this stuff anyways.”

Her heart bloats with sadness, anger, and, for what seems like the millionth time in her life, the bitter ache of disappointment. “Please don’t go, Luke. I swear things will turn out fine, I can _feel_ it.”

Her voice cracks with emotion, but it’s too late. He turns to her and brushes his lips against her forehead before slinking out of the hospital room, rosary still untouched around his neck. He doesn’t even look back at the girl.


	2. Don't Pick Up

Finn enters room 7SW, gauze and tubing in hand, and immediately makes eyes contact with the older woman sitting at his patient’s side. It’s Leia Organa, director of Catholic Social Services, and it’s also the fourth time in two days he’s run into her in this particular hospital room. In Finn’s opinion, that makes it four times too many.

It’s not that Finn doesn’t like Ms. Organa, _per say_. Normally her staunch dedication to the mental rehabilitation of patients is encouraging for the nursing staff, and her organization’s effort to house and help the city’s street youth is a valuable asset for a hospital as overworked as this one. No, it’s her insistence that every scrap of help needs to be drenched in _faith_ that spoils her in his books.

She notices his thinly veiled hostility almost immediately, as if it preceded him into the room. Snapping her Bible closed, she pulls off her reading glasses and fixes him with a pointed stare. “May I help you?”

The sharp slap of latex on skin punctuates his response. “No m’am.” He makes an extra show of sliding on his gloves, as if to demonstrate his true purpose for being in the room. Next, he rips open a sterile pack of gauze and tosses the top into the garbage can. Focusing on the patient’s wounded right wrist, he gently unwinds the old dirty gauze, taking care to not damage the raw, bruised flesh beneath.

Ms. Organa watches him intently as he works, eyes flicking up to meet his occasionally. She pointedly avoids looking at actual wounds and instead appears to examine his face with an uncomfortable level of scrutiny. He tries not to let it bother him, and focuses on his job. Wrap the gauze, tight enough that it doesn’t slip, but loose enough for circulation. Fasten with clips. Check the tension. Dispose of the waste. Repeat.

“I know you, don’t I?”

His hand stalls and he starts to sweat. “I don’t believe so.”

Leaning back in her chair, she stares at him down the length of her nose and gives him a smile that he assumes is supposed to be disarming, but instead fills him with a feeling of dread.  “No, I could swear I’ve seen you before. Your name...F-f, Fn...?”

“It’s Finn,” he blurts out. “Just Finn.”

“Finn.” She rolls the unfamiliar syllable around in her mouth. “No, can’t say I remember that. How long have you worked here, Finn?”

“Just under a year,” he responds. “Started right after I finished university.”

He can feel the question coming and tries to ignore the unpleasant clamminess gathering on his gloved hands.

“So Finn, are you a religious fellow?”

He groans internally. At any other hospital, this query would be frowned upon and get the Director and her kind kicked out of the facility. However, despite many tepid warnings from the Chief of Medicine and others, the Church kept a strong presence, most likely due to the massive amount of resources at their disposal, as well as the almost uncanny way they could manage unruly patients.

Feeling her eyes on him, Finn scrambles to come up with an acceptable answer, and dredges up nothing.

“You want me to say it?” He clears his throat. “Okay, here it goes. I _used_ to be a religious person, until I had a very, let’s just say, _enlightening_ experience working for a certain _prominent_ religious figure in this town. His methods and motives didn’t really mesh with my personal moral code, so I decided to ditch religion and focus on something that actually helps people. Like science. And medicine.” He awkwardly gestures to the I.V. stand next to him for emphasis.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ms. Organa murmurs, a not very sorry expression on her face. “But you didn’t really have to leave the church. Not all religions or religious people conduct themselves in the same manner as...that person.”

Finn rolls his eyes. “I know he’s your kid, okay? And I know that you don’t necessarily agree with the way he does things. But you’re wrong; I had to leave. I had to do it for myself.”

Gritting his teeth, he turns away from the Director and busies himself with checking Jane Doe’s fluid levels. She’s still stable, and is starting to gain a healthy flush to her cheeks that makes her look less emaciated. He hesitates to use the term ‘miracle,’ especially in this context, but it was certainly...fortuitous that the injuries missed all of her major organs, and didn’t even damage the delicate bones in her wrists.

Dr. Watts seemed optimistic this morning about the patient’s recovery and gave the instruction to decrease her levels of sedative gradually in an effort to wake her up in the least traumatic way possible. Minding this, Finn adjusts the levels of propofol in her IV and studies her face for the telltale signs.

It begins with a subtle twitch of her right eyebrow, then her left, and then both shudder together. The corner of her mouth quirks slightly, and he notices the index finger of her right hand has started to wiggle. Ms. Organa notices too. She slides her Bible out from her purse and leans forward, eyes locked on the patient.

After what seems like hours, but was really only a minute or two, the girl’s eyes ease open slowly. Her body jolts abruptly

“W-where, where am I?” she stutters. Her voice is hoarse with disuse.

Ms. Organa is instantly up, ready to swoop in, but Finn holds her back with a firm stare. Schooling his features back into the very image of calm, he faces the patient and gently informs her, “You’re at the general hospital downtown. You were admitted two days ago with some pretty bad injuries, but you’re going to be alright. My name is Finn; I’m the nurse who’s been taking care of you.”

The Director coughs not too subtly.

He resists the urge to ignore her entirely and adds as an afterthought. “This is Ms. Leia Organa with Catholic Social Services. She’s here to talk with you _after_ we cover your health concerns and _after_ I’ve finished redressing your wounds.”

“Augh, I’ll actually step out for a moment, if you don’t mind.” Ms. Organa gathers her things and stands up to leave. Placing a wrinkled hand on the patient’s wrist, she says, “I just want you to know that we’re all praying for you. You have a very bright future ahead of you, I can tell you that.”

She shoots Finn a suspicious look. “You take good care of her, young man. I’ll just be out in the hall.”

The vaguely implied ‘ _God is watching’_ goes without saying, and Finn resists the urge to stick out his tongue at her retreating back. Instead, he turns to the patient and gives her another gentle smile.

The patient blinks slowly, her brown eyes round and glassy enough for him to make out his reflection in them. “Finn,” she breathes.

He smiles. “Yes, Finn. I’m here to help you. Do you remember your name?”

She scrunches up her face like a child who has been asked a particularly hard math problem. “Rey,” she answers. Hearing her own name on her lips, she nods, the beginnings of a grin at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, Rey. My name is Rey.”

Her voice is accented, English from the sounds of it. It tickles Finn’s ears with its novelty.

“Rey,” he murmurs. “That’s a beautiful name.”

A full toothy grin stretches across Rey’s face. “Thank you. I’m afraid I don’t really remember much of anything else.” Her smile fades. “Though it feels like I’ve been run over with a steamroller.”

Finn grabs her chart from the foot of her bed and flips through it, even though he knows her injuries by heart, memorized them the second he started looking after her. “You sustained multiple puncture wounds, focused on your wrists, feet, and the left side of your abdomen. They were remarkably clean, so you have a very low risk for infection, but you did lose a dangerous amount of blood. As well, you will need to be on bed rest until your wounds heal over a bit more.”

“That would explain the tubes in weird places, thanks. Did you do those?”

Despite himself and his own sense of professionalism, Finn blushes. “No, no I didn’t. The ER nurse prepped you when you were first admitted.”

She blushes too, awake enough to recognize the awkwardness of the situation. “Uh, not that I would be mad or anything, I mean you would have been working to save my life. Being nude and full of tubes in a room full of strangers really isn’t that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things.”

“Uh, if you say so.” Finn busies himself with checking the patient’s levels, aware of the patient’s-of _Rey’s_ eyes following his every movement. Really, he shouldn’t be feeling this way, have this pounding in his chest and tightness in his throat, but from the moment she said his name he’s been utterly enchanted with her.

Sure, she’s responded very well to the intravenous nutrients, which have pumped enough fluids into her emaciated form to plump up her body and skin. And sure, she’s apparently British and cutely awkward and has very big brown eyes. But having a crush on a patient, no matter how mild the infatuation, is a huge no-no in his line of work.

He tries to tell himself that he doesn’t know her, that she’s most likely mentally unstable or even suicidal, that she may be addicted to drugs, but nothing can temper the flutter in his chest that happens when she grabs his hand in hers.

“Finn,” she whispers earnestly. “Thank you for everything.”

*

Someone’s drunk.

Ben sips his overpriced whiskey through his teeth and grimaces, the soft sound of dry heaving in the background lingering in his ears and souring his belly. He turns to his dinner companion and asks dryly, “Is it one of ours?”

The statuesque blonde, who goes only by the name ‘Phasma’ for some inexplicable reason, glances over her shoulder and wrinkles her nose. “It’s Slip again. Damn kid can’t hold his liquor. Would you like me to have a talk with him?”

Ben cocks his head to the side, thoughtful. “Is that what I’m paying you for?” he muses.

“I believe ‘Intern wrangling’ was one of the official duties, yes,” she replies. Right under ‘Bodyguard’ and above ‘Part Time Life Coaching.’ Don’t mind Slip. I’ll put him on envelope stuffing for a week, see if that straightens him out.”

“Please do. Oh, and can you find out who picked this awful bar so that I can fire them? Thanks.”

“Will do.” Phasma takes one last long glance at the interns, who all seem to be playing the world’s worst game of six-way beer pong on a massive table, before turning back to Ben. “So,” she starts. “How are you feeling?”

Ben stares down at his glass of whiskey. “Oh, you know me.”

“As well as any of us do, I suppose. Let me make a guess. Despite just releasing a new book and having all of the money and staff a guy your age could ever need, you are still struck by your latent Catholic guilt regarding the fact that you are in a bar on a Sunday afternoon and have pretty much abandoned and been abandoned by your family for the past fifteen years.”

“That is but the tip of the iceberg, but thank you for trying.” He sighs and pulls Phasma’s copy of his new book across the bar. “What do you think about my hair on the cover? It looks atrocious, doesn’t it? This doesn’t even look like me.”

“I believe the official term is ‘tousled.’’ She makes a grab for the book, but he bats her hand away. “Hux told me Snoke requested this particular look. Part of the brand transformation.”

Ben flips the book over, only to be confronted by his face again on the back cover next to his ghostwritten author blurb. The photo only bares a very passing resemblance to his real life personage, mostly due to the excessive photoshopping, styling, and before mentioned coiffing that accompanied the shoot. Snoke’s mantra for the last two years had finally come to fruition; _New Name, New Look, New Man._ Ben, now rebranded as Kylo Ren to appeal to the more liberal, ‘spiritual’ crowd (Snoke calls them “Oprah junkies”), barely recognises himself.

“You know, it’s all probably for the best,” he mutters. “I’ve been told Ben Solo was excessively disappointing.”

As if to punctuate his dour remark, his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He yanks it out and is greeted by the least familiar face in his contact list.

_(DON’T PICK UP) Leia Organa._

As his stomach starts stress-clenching, he wonders why on earth he doesn’t just set her number to go straight to voicemail, or change his phone number again. Of course both options will do nothing to stop the obnoxious typhoon that is his mother.

Schooling his features, he pushes the offending gadget over towards Phasma, and musters up enough nonchalance to groan, “Can you take this? I’m tired of the phone.”

“Isn’t _Hux_ your personal assistant?” Phasma asks pointedly.

“I believe ‘Reluctant Agent and Worst Manager Ever’ could be synonymous with ‘Personal Assistant,’ but that’s not the way he sees it. Also, he left a half an hour ago. Said he had to take his cat to the vet, or something else equally asinine.” He holds the phone between two fingers like it’s a dirty diaper. “Take it.”

She groans, but does as he says. “This is the phone of Kylo Ren, internationally bestselling author of _Are You There God? It’s Me, Success._ How may I help you?” she rattles off in her cool, lightly accented voice.

Her eyes widen. “You need to talk to _Ben_. Oh, his _mother_ , you say?” Covering the phone’s mic with her hand, she turns to Ben and contorts her face into the most mockingly shocked expression he’s ever seen.

“Stop that!” he hisses. “You look like a horny Jack Nicholson.”

She laughs silently and returns to her conversation. “Hello, Ms. Organa, I’ve heard so _little_ about you. Yes, I’m sorry, your son is currently indisposed. May I take a message?” She grabs a napkin and begins taking notes in purple ballpoint pen. Every so often she punctuates his mother’s dialogue with a small ‘mmhmm’ or ‘yes I understand,’ but for the most part she just smirks at Ben out of the corner of her eye.

A couple of minutes are all Director Organa needs to convey a napkin full of details, leaving Phasma to end the call with a perfunctory “Yes, God bless you too,” before she hangs up and rounds on Ben.

“So, that was your mom.”

He downs the rest of his drink in one gulp and winces at the burn. “It appears so,” he rasps.

“She’s wondering why you never _call_ her.”

“Apparently being called a ‘heathen piece of excrement’ and a ‘shame to our family and your father’s good name’ wasn’t supposed to discourage me? My mistake.” Snorting, he slams his glass down onto the bar coaster. “I should stop ignoring her calls and go back to being pals again now that our fifteen year rift has apparently been healed overnight. However, she should be aware that this deal will only work if she can go a year without lambasting me in _America Magazine_ which is, as we both know, a literally impossible task.”

Phasma stares at him, her chin resting on her fist. “You must have been a delightful child,” she deadpans.

He raises his dark eyebrows. “Maybe, but not delightful enough to keep my father around.”

“Jesus.” She shakes her head. “Well, your mother didn’t just call to chat. She has a request for you. A _prayer_ request.”

She slides the napkin across the table to Ben, who immediately slides it back.

“No way. It’s a trap. A ‘prayer request?’ Who does she think she’s trying to fool? If my mother had her way, I would be saying Hail Marys and Our Fathers until my teeth fell out. I’m not doing any of her praying for her.”

“Apparently it’s not like that.” Phasma pointedly slides the napkin across to him, and holds it there. “She says you can pray any way you would like to. It’s for a homeless girl they found downtown who was pretty mangled and has just come out of sedation. Your mother says she’s going to make it, but there’s a lot of work to be done. The hospital downtown thinks the wounds may be self inflicted, but your mom thinks they may be something else? She didn’t specify; just said that the injuries are special and you ‘would know why.’”

She emphasizes the last phrase with Ben’s very least favourite form of non-verbal communication, the ‘finger quotes.’ He winces at the action, while willing himself to keep his cool in the face of such a bombshell being delivered to him on a bar napkin.

“My mother is a nut.” He pulls the offending napkin from under Phasma’s fingers and rips it into tiny pieces which lets scatter on the bar top like snow.  His hands are shaking slightly, so he sweeps the paper flakes aside and interlocks his fingers around his empty whiskey glass. “First and foremost with that woman is the fact that she is a self-righteous, workaholic, unreasonably demanding nutcase. She’s trying, yet again, to pull me into that mystic cult she calls ‘the One True Church,’ and I could literally care less.”

Except he does. He does care, and he knows his mother would never, ever bring up ‘special injuries’ lightly, not even to manipulate. Not even with their estrangement and everything their pathetic family has been through, every stupid fight and ridiculous mind game.  There’s a line with them, and that line is their shared history with the strange and bizarre, the faithful and the fantastic, and most importantly their experience with mysterious and remarkable wounds.  Wounds that marked his grandfather. The wounds that ended up killing him.

So that’s why, a short 10 minute drive later, Ben finds himself at the entrance of the general hospital, heart beating in his throat, with his Bible in hand and no plan whatsoever.

 


	3. Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter, dear readers!

For his entire life, Ben has been more comfortable in the shadows than in the spotlight. As a teenager, his awkwardly proportioned features and gangly stature made Sundays at church with his parents especially difficult. Everyone wanted to talk to the director of Catholic Social Services and her devilishly handsome scoundrel of a husband so, even though Ben would have rather dug himself a pit to Hell, his most socially difficult years were spent making small talk with well meaning parishioners and their inevitably good-looking daughters.

His pre-pubescent self spent a lot of time singing in the parish choir where, mercifully, his height put him in the back row, away from scrutiny. Singing had been by far his favourite activity in church. It had always been the one thing that linked him directly to the Spirit; when he sang, everything else fell away, and he felt as though God was right in the room with him. Nothing else had been able to incite such a feeling in him. Even now, the biggest concerts and most hyped up services can’t hold a candle to sitting in the back of a packed chapel singing the old hymns, unseen and unnoticed.

So that’s why it’s easy for him to slip into the emergency department like a bandit, his gait even and his face impassive. His height, a burden in his youth, is now an asset as it gives him a look of authority and the ability to stroll down a hallway without anyone questioning his motives.  He hasn’t shaved for about a week, so his recognizable face is hidden beneath a layer of dark stubble, and his normally coiffed hair falls in heavy waves around his face.  To complete his simple but effective disguise, he pulls his reading glasses from his breast pocket and slips them on.

He slinks down the corridor until he hears the faint murmur of his mother’s voice. He discreetly pulls out his phone and pretends to text as he eavesdrops.

_“...yes, I understand that you want to go home right away. The hospital just has some concerns that they would like to address, so I’ve called over one of my therapists to have a chat with you.”_

_“So everyone thinks I’m crazy?”_ Ben perks up when he hears the second voice, the one that presumably belongs to the girl. It’s accented and assertive, not taking the Director’s word at face value. He likes her already.

_“Not crazy, Rey, not at all. You’ve been through a lot, that’s all, and the hospital wants to make sure you’re healing properly, both mentally and physically.”_

_“So you’re bringing in your shrink to make sure I don’t kill myself once I get out of the hospital, is that it?”_

Ben can hear his mother’s frustration oozing through her voice. It’s a sound he’s very familiar with. _“Please trust me Rey. I trust that you didn’t do this to yourself, now you need to trust me that we all have your best interest at heart.”_

There’s a pause, and then: _“Okay, fine. I’ll talk to the therapist. Anything that helps me get out of here faster.”_

_“Okay, I’ll call him in. Would you like me to be present for the session?”_

_“No, I’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to handle a shrink.”_

Leia chuckles. “ _You’ll be fine as long as I don’t tell him you called him that.”_

Ben turns his back to the door just as it opens and his mother emerges. Luckily, she’s too distracted by her work to notice her hulkingly large son lurking next to the hospital room. Instead she brushes right past him, the legendary Skywalker powers of perception failing her magnificently.

Still he’s not willing to tempt fate with his mother’s preoccupation and would rather keep moving. Ben glances at her reflection in the windowed hallway. She’s calling someone, her back facing him, so he makes a break for it and slides through the still cracked open hospital room door and smoothly closes it behind him.

 For a moment he forgets that the room is occupied, so pleased that he avoided being seen, until a small voice comments, “Oh, it’s you.”

Ben’s heart shudders for just a second, and he turns to face the girl. “Have we met?”

“No, not that I know of. But you’re the therapist, right? The one Ms. Organa sent?”

He can already see the steel in her gaze, the look of someone who has had to take care of themselves for as long as they can remember. It’s startling how strong her stare is, how he feels almost pinned to the wall under her eyes. His eyes flit to the gauze wrapped wounds on her wrists and at her feet; his curiosity is piqued, but he can’t just rip off the bandages and _look._

When enough time is passed that the moment begins to feel awkward, Ben clears his throat and responds. “Yes. I’m the psychiatrist for Catholic Social Services.”

She squints her eyes at him, determining the veracity of his statement by observing him. Apparently he passes, since she volunteers, “Well, I’m Rey, as you probably already know. And your name is?”

“Dr. Caedeus,” he blurts out probably a little too quickly. His palms have started sweating.  

“Caedeus.” She tentatively sounds it out. “I’ve never heard that name before. Is it Greek?”

This whole situation is becoming totally unacceptable to Ben. The lack of control makes him anxious, and there’s something about the resolve in her stare that he finds both unnerving and strangely intriguing. He tilts his head to the side, trying to keep his best condescending therapist face on. “Maybe, maybe not. Is the etymology of my surname really that really relevant right now? I sense some deflection.”

She’s barely chastened as his condescension only seems to fuel her obstinacy. “Well, to be honest I think this whole exercise is joke. I mean, I’ve never been to therapist before, but I can already tell you that I’m probably not very good at it. You’ll probably end up wasting your time. Just turn around and leave.”

His failed attempt at intimidation makes Ben become aware of how much space he’s taking up in the tiny hospital room, about how much he towers over her, and realises that he’s not going to learn much about the situation by standing and glaring. Instead, he pulls over an awful seafoam green vinyl char from the corner of the room, and sits down across from Rey, facing her, his elbows on his knees and his chin rested on his folded hands.  “Well, it’s my choice to stay since it is my time to waste. Please, just try and relax and let me do my job. It’ll be over before you even know it.”

She raises an eyebrow and clenches her jaw. “I highly doubt that.”

“You can doubt all you like. It’s not going to change the outcome, whatever that may be.” Ben pulls a small notebook and pen from the interior pocket of his black blazer and flips to a fresh page. “Now, tell me what brought you here.”

When she doesn’t respond after a few seconds, he glances up and meets her stubborn stare. Her brown eye blaze with pent up anger and frustration. Pursing his lips, he taps his pen on the notepad. “I can wait all day,” he says, very aware that he totally can’t.

“I don’t understand why you need to hear this story again. I’ve told the doctors, staff, even that Catholic director. I’m tired of telling it.”

“Well, I haven’t heard it from you yet.” He puts down his pen and pulls off his glasses, pocketing them before he rubs at his face with his hands. Out of habit, he runs his fingers through his hair, tousling it slightly. The actions relax him. “Please Rey,” he implores, looking up at her again through his glasses free eyes. “I just need to hear your story.”

She looks taken aback by his actions, her eyes flicking to look at his slightly dishevelled hair and flushed cheeks. Too soon, she shakes her head and resumes glaring at him. “Fine. You want to hear the story? Here it is. I was going out my day, doing my daily scavenging and whatnot. I went to sleep for the night in the old pile of junk I call home, and when I woke up I was covered in blood and had these injuries. I called 911, and the rest is history.”

Ben’s pen pauses on the notepad. “That was literally the worst story I have ever heard.”

Rey’s eyes flash. “You are literally the worst therapist I have ever heard.”

“This is pointless.” He stands up, pen and paper falling from his lap to clatter on the floor. In two short strides he’s next to her bed. “Rey,” he starts. “You need to take this seriously. You’re not getting out of here until I have proof that you’re mentally stable. Right now your stubbornness is not doing you any favours.” He leans in, not close enough to touch, but close enough that he can make out the faint constellation of freckles scattered across her face. His breath catches in his throat from the proximity, but he’s already gone too far, he has to commit. “You say you don’t remember. They’ll take it as proof that you had a mental breakdown and institutionalize you. _I_ don’t want that for you Rey, and you shouldn’t want it either. It’s a lonely life, and I know you’ve had enough loneliness for one lifetime.”

He can see the cogs turning in her head. Her obvious distrust of him is evidenced by the way her eyes dart to the nurse call button at the side of her bed, but he’s also intrigued her as well. Ben is very aware that he can have that affect on people. His mother called it his ‘double-edged sword,’ the way he could have a meltdown or be totally inappropriate and still have people want to be around him. She claimed it was a combination of his father’s charm and her family’s innate understanding of people. She also said it was ‘unholy.’ Typical.

Rey looks up into his eyes, not with a stare of hostility but with openness and curiosity. Ben feels a jolt run down his spine when her warm brown eyes meet his tumultuous dark ones. He knows it’s corny, but he could swear that the air in the room gets a bit thinner when she looks at him that way, like he’s just another human and she’s his equal. For a brief moment, her eyes drop to his lips and his stomach does a strange flip.

“Fine.” Breaking away, she turns and glances at the clock, face impassive. “Ask me another question.”

He straightens up and walks over to sit back in his chair. Crouching over, he retrieves his pen and notepad.

“Alright then, little scavenger. Let’s _talk._ ”

*

Rey stares at the man seated across from her, his too-tall frame folded awkwardly in one of the ugly hospital chairs. She still doesn’t really know what to make of him; either he is the worst therapist ever, or the most effective and avant-garde one.

“So what do you need to know? I want to get out of this place as soon as I can.”

Dr. Caedeus leans back on his chair and frowns. “I want to let you out too, but we both know it doesn’t work like that. Now, you’re one hundred percent sure you don’t remember? It’s okay to share; this is a safe space.”

“Why are you so insistent that I’m lying?”

Sighing, he runs his fingers through his hair again. The action makes her feel...weird. Not disgusted or annoyed or anything she can put her finger on. Just weird.

“Not lying, Rey. Not intentionally. I’m just aware of the fact that human emotions are very powerful, and they can manipulate things, for better or for worse. It could be that your brain is just trying to protect you right now.”

She groans, frustrated. “All of you doctors are trying to make me remember something, but I honestly don’t remember anything. Why won’t any of you believe me?”

“Let’s just say that there are some people here who are very invested in the nature of your injuries.”

Rey stares at Caedeus. His face is impassive other than his eyes, which flick from her lips to her wrists and back again. She frowns. “The nature? What difference does it make? Either I did this to myself or I didn’t. I’m either a victim or a nutter. I don’t see why people care so much.”

“There is a third option.” His face darkens and he looks around the stark hospital room as if checking for surveillance or eavesdroppers. Once satisfied, he asks, “Have you ever heard of stigmata?”

Rey shrugs. “That’s when you have bad eyes, right?”

He laughs. The sound is surprisingly light and makes her smile in spite of herself. “No, that’s astigmatism. Stigmata are a mystical phenomenon; wounds that mimic the wounds of Christ. They appear and disappear mysteriously and are said to be a sign that someone is very blessed by God.”

“And some people think I have these stigmatas? That’s insane! How is that even possible?” Her eyes widen. “Do _you_ think I have them?”

“I can’t say for certain. I have known of one other instance of stigmata, but I never saw them in person. I don’t even really know how it’s determined whether wounds are mystical or not. As you can imagine, it’s a very rare thing and not well documented.”

His excitement is palpable from where he sits. All of his previous hostility has fallen away and is replaced by an almost childlike look of curiosity.

Rey is swept up a bit as well. For her entire life she’s imagined being a part of some sort of fantastical adventure, away from the life she’s always known. She used to have a piece of old drain pipe that she would pretend was King Arthur’s sword Excalibur. The game would consist of her burying most of it in a junk pile and then struggling to pull it out, pretending to be all of those ‘unworthy’ wanderers who came to seek the sword’s glory. Finally she would pretend to be Arthur and pull the sword triumphantly from the garbage clad ‘stone’ whilst imaginary fanfare played in her head.

Sure, mystical markings not the same as a legendary sword, but to live a life where she was chosen? Chosen by God? The idea is ludicrous, but when she looks at Caedeus seated across from her, his face bathed in barely masked wonder, it somehow seems a little more believable.  

“Well, come on then,” she urges. “You’ve been stealing glances ever since you came in. Why don’t you just take a look?”

Wincing, Rey gingerly crosses her right hand over to her left bandage and makes an awful attempt to pry the metal clip from the gauze. Caedeus is on his feet in an instant, hands outstretched.

“Rey! What the hell are you doing?”

“I want you to see them. Then you can make the call for yourself.” She raises the arm to her mouth and tries to catch the clip with her teeth.

He’s at her side in an instant, his large hand on her arm gently guiding hers back down. “You don’t have to do this,” he says. “I can just look at your chart, I-I don’t need to see them in person,” he stammers.

“You said they might be mystical, right? What better way to check then to see them first hand? I highly doubt you can judge their mystical properties from bad police pictures.”

She’s mostly just humouring him and the entire situation, but she can’t deny that a very small part of her _wants_ to believe so badly, she’s willing to potentially humiliate herself in the process. As well, another very miniscule corner of her soul sees how he looks at her and wants to enjoy every last drop of his enraptured attention. He’s right, she has been lonely, so having another human being to interested, so _invested_ in her is absolutely intoxicating.

So that’s why she allows him to take her wounded wrist in his slightly shaking hands, pinch off the small metal clips, and slowly unwind the gauze from her  injury, careful not to press on the bruised flesh. Her heart thumps at the strangeness of the situation, of him baring her to his attention.

He hisses when he sees the puncture mark. “This wound, it’s-“

“...very deep. And clean. I know, everyone keeps saying that.”

“...Magnificent. It’s astonishing. It went straight through your wrist but broke no bones. How is that even possible?” Swallowing deeply, he looks up at her, his eyes strangely glassy. “This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen.”

Rey’s face burns at his words, her heart pounding even more in her chest. His sincerity is frighteningly intense, but she likes it all the same. Sincerity is rare on the streets, and even rarer for a young woman on her own to hear. A pleasant coiling sensation starts deep in her belly; she’s confused at first, but then realises exactly what she is feeling.

Power.

“So, what should I do?” she whispers. “You said people will want to try and control me, and I don’t want to let that happen.”

His eyes snap up to hers. “You need to empower yourself, educate yourself, so that no one can take advantage of you. People are going to try to tell you things about what this means and how you need to act because it. Don’t listen to them. Previous stigmatics have been treated almost like religious relics instead of people. You can’t let that happen. You’re still a human being, and you deserve to live like one.”

“But how do I even go about doing that? I don’t have any money, I can’t go to school or advocate for myself. I don’t even have anywhere to live.”

“I can teach you,” Caedeus blurts out. “Please. We need to make sure you’re safe and out of the Church’s clutches. You don’t need to live by anyone’s rules Rey. If these injuries are what we think they are, you have been given the freedom to live your life with His blessing.”

Rey leans forward, transfixed by his promise. “I still don’t really know if I believe everything, but a life of freedom sounds-“

_BANG!_

The door flies open suddenly in a flurry of yelling and what sounds like a barking dog.

“REY! Rey, don’t listen to him! What the _heck?_ ”

The intruder is a young and handsome dark haired man, accompanied by a little fat Corgi in an orange vest. Rey blinks twice at the absurdity of the situation, and looks over at the psychiatrist to gauge his reaction. Caedeus’s face immediately switches from a look of unabashed awe to utter disgust.

“W-what do you mean?” she asks. “What are you talking about? And how did you get a _dog_ in here?

The wild eyed mystery man looks just as shocked as her, but he manages to blurt out, “The dog? This is BB and he’s a registered therapy dog.” He looks up at Dr. Caedeus, then down at Rey’s mangled wrist, still exposed in the palm of his hand. “What sort of perverted game are you playing here, you sick fuc-“

“Language, Dameron,” Caedeus gently places her wrist down and walks over to his chair to retrieve his notepad and Bible. Pocketing both, he sits down on the ugly vinyl chair. “What would the Director say if she heard you using words like that?”

“In this situation? I’d bet she’d have a way bigger problem with you being in here trying to manipulate an injured teenage girl!”

“Hold on a second.” Rey awkwardly flings the gauze back over her wrist. She can’t even get close to successfully wrapping it, so she groans with frustration and presses the nurse summoning button on the side of her bed. Her head is swimming with countless questions so it takes her a moment to focus on asking just one of them. She turns to the intruder. “So, who are you exactly?”

He turns away from glaring at Caedeus and gives her a winning smile, all shining teeth and twinkling eyes. “Poe Dameron. I’m a registered therapist and lay chaplain for the diocese of St. George. Leia Organa sent me here to check up on you.”

That pleasant, warm twisting feeling in Rey’s belly suddenly turns sour. “Wait, so if you’re my therapist...” She glares at the man in black still sitting in front of her, “then who are _you_?”

Dr. Caedeus folds his hands in front of him looks down at the floor, his face twisted with barely repressed frustration. Poe sneers at his silence. “Well, since he seems to want to refuse to answer for himself, I’ll do it for him. That’s _Kylo Ren_. He’s the lead pastor of First Order Pentecostal church downtown, and I don’t know what the heck he’s doing here, but I’d be willing to bet that his intentions are _not_ pure.”

Rey’s mouth drops open. “What? What do you mean? You lied to me? Are you trying to brainwash me or something?” she asks Dr. Caedeus- _Ren_ , who has the decency to look very slightly ashamed.

“Not at all. I just want you to know that you have other options. The Catholics are going to try and lock you up like a trophy and then pull you out to parade around on holy days. You don’t have to live like that.”

She laughs sharply. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned that. So you’re my other option? Some creep who sneaks into my hospital room, glares at me, and salivates over my injuries?”

Poe makes a disgusted noise.

Ren stands up, dwarfing the other man and his dog. His face is a mixture of emotions, and Rey doesn’t think she’s deluding herself when she sees a little bit of hurt mixed in. A very small part of her screams about weighing her options, not discounting him entirely, how he can’t be _that_ bad. They shared a moment, albeit a very strange moment, and he does seem to care in a strange way.

But lying is lying, and if there’s anything she’s learned from her life it’s once a liar, _always_ a liar.

 She looks up at Ren’s looming figure. His eyes soften, but it’s not enough. “Get out,” she spits.

His face falls.

_BANG!_

For the second time today, they’re interrupted by the door flying open. BB yelps in surprise, but it’s only Finn, arms full of gauze and mouth full of questions.

“What’s going on? Is anyone hurt?” He spots Ren and his eyes go as round as saucers. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Leaving,” Ren replies, his eyes still fixed on Rey’s. His face is mournful, but she refuses to acknowledge him with any more than a nod towards the door. He sighs, turns, and stalks out.

Poe gives a low whistle. “Geez, the nerve of that guy. Are you okay, honey?”

“Yeah, Rey, did he try anything with you?” Finn asks as he begins the task of replacing her wrist wrapping. “That guy is an actual life ruiner. He nearly destroyed mine and I’d hate to see him do a number on you. Wait a second.” He stops unrolling gauze to turn and look at Poe. “Who are you, and why is there a dog in here?”

BB barks quietly in response.

Poe laughs. “I’m Poe Dameron, and I’m a mental health therapist and lay chaplain from Catholic Social Services.” He flashes his smile and Finn slightly backs away from the intensity. “This is BB my therapy dog. She’s clean and registered, so you don’t have to worry about her making a mess or wrecking stuff.”

“Poe, hey?” Finn nods. “A therapist with a dog. That’s actually pretty awesome. Pleased to meet you. Thanks for shutting down Kylo Ren earlier.”

“It’s my pleasure. Speaking of which.” He turns to Rey, “I actually need to leave to make a call. I’m so sorry I was late to our session today, and I deeply apologize for whatever happened between you and that maniac.”

Rey smiles at the kindly therapist and his chubby little dog. “No, thank you. He just kept on talking and, I don’t know, I guess I kind of got caught up in all the words. Thanks for coming today. Will you be coming in for a session tomorrow?”

Poe nods. “I’ll try my best. Come on BB.”

The two exit quietly, leaving Rey alone with Finn who has resumed rebandaging her wound. The room is quiet, both of them unsure of what to say, until Rey blurts out, “I don’t know what I should do.”

Finn raises an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About what he said. Kylo Ren,” she clarifies. “He said my marks might mean I’m chosen by God, and that I need to protect myself from people who want to take advantage of me.”

“People like him, you mean.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Is it crazy? Do I really have stigmata? A couple minutes ago, I didn’t even know what that was.”

Finn dumps the dirty gauze into a biohazardous waste container along with his used latex gloves. “I don’t know what to tell you. Yeah, it sounds like craziness, but Ren isn’t stupid. Neither is Ms. Organa, and it sounds like both of them think you might have these stigmata things. I guess the best thing you could do would be to learn about them and see what this might mean for you.”

“Yeah.” She smiles at him, a big bright grin that lights up the room. “Well, I could start by going to church, I guess. If God has blessed me, and I need to learn more about God, then there’s no better place to go. Do you go to church, Finn?”

His heart thumps in his chest. Her smile is almost blinding with its intensity, and he would hate to let her down. “Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I go to church. We should go together.”

Her infectious happiness is worth any twisting feeling in his belly, that he knows for sure.

*

Poe pulls out his phone and calls Ms. Organa as soon as he leaves the room, BB hot on his heels. She picks up after three rings.

_“Poe, that was quick. You must have just arrived. Is everything okay?”_

“Ren was here.”

There’s silence for a whole minute. Poe chews on his bottom lip, worried that the Director may have passed out from shock, but when she responds, her voice is stronger than ever.

_“I did have a weird feeling when I was there this afternoon. I thought I felt him around. What do you think he wants?”_

“I think he’s mostly curious about the marks, just like the rest of us. He was just talking to her when I came in. He didn’t tell her who he was, of course, but he didn’t seem like he was traumatizing her. What I don’t understand is how he even knew about her?”

_“Poe, he knows because I told him. I felt like he had to know. I just asked him to pray for her, but I guess he had his own idea about how to proceed with things. Gosh, if I had known he would show up...”_

“I apologize, m’am, but why did you think it would be a good idea to tell him? You know he has no problems with making a scene, with bursting in where he’s not welcome and arguing people off of a cliff. This is along with the fact that your brother had him excommunicated ages ago.”

_“You know I didn’t agree with that decision Poe. I still don’t. I think we need to give Ben a chance because, deep down, he still believes the Truth. He still wants to do the right thing; to help people with no ulterior motives or reservations. Sure, he appears to be driven solely by his heart, but I believe that his faith is still pure. He’s not off the path yet.”_

Poe’s mind flashes back to a scene fifteen years ago in the rectory, of young Ben Solo screaming about something or other (life, passion, entertainment, healing, sex, food, the goodness of Mankind, and the like) to Father Luke, of Poe and the rest of the boys cowering away in fear of his rage, of the priest’s calmly pleading voice saying, “ _Please don’t say such things, Ben. We’ve been called to a higher purpose. Don’t spread those lies here.”_  Of Ben storming off while the other boys stared in shock.

The rectory burned down the next day under ‘mysterious circumstances’ and that was the end of Father Luke’s experiment with urban monasticism.

Poe coughs, clearing his head. “If you say so, Ms. Organa. I tried my best, but I don’t know if he got to her. You know how he is.”

 _“More than anyone else does.”_ He hears her writing something down. _“I’ll call Luke right away. Please pray that I can convince him to come in. You know how he is now, so cautious.”_

“Will do, m’am. Have a good night.” Poe hangs up and reaches down to scratch BB between the ears. The dog closes its eyes and grins with contentment and Poe laughs, tension draining from his shoulders.

The moment is broken by the bustle of that nurse, Finn, exiting Rey’s room with his arms full of empty gauze packets. He’s a mess, arms overloaded with several bright yellow plastic containers and gauze everywhere, including some stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

“Whoa there,” Poe calls out. Finn pauses at the sound. When he recognises Poe, his shoulders slump in relaxation.

“Hey. Thanks again for that. Kylo Ren is a sick fucker.”

Poe laughs. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. Come have a seat.”

Finn’s mouth opens to protest, but BB whines at him, shutting him up. With a sigh of contentment, he drops down in the chair next to Poe.

“God, that girl is just a magnet for trouble.”

Poe chuckles. “Rey? Yeah, apparently so. Luckily she’s got you looking out for her.”

Finn blushes. “I guess so. I’ve just been in the right place at the right time. But now it’s even better because now she has both of us.”

He reaches out and squeezes Poe’s shoulder, bro-style. The action sends a jolt of lightning down Poe’s spine, and he lets out a strangled, “Yeah?”

Finn squeezes again. “Yeah man. You’re coming in all handsome therapist style with your cute dog. Yelling at Kylo Ren and stuff. She’s lucky to have you. Anyways-“ He gathers up his gauze and boxes and stand up. “I’ve got to head out. Give me a shout when you’re in tomorrow, okay Poe? It’s been great to meet you.”

Poe nods back to him, still slightly in shock. “Yeah, totally.”

Both he and his dog stare at Finn’s retreating back. Once the young nurse is out of sight, BB glances up at Poe, his eyes wide and questioning.

Poe shakes his head and scratches BB behind the ears, trying to collect his thoughts about what just happened, what he had just felt.

 “Well, shit BB,” he mumbles to himself. “Well _shit._ ”

 


	4. Discernment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/kudos-ed so far. I know "Religious AU" is not the most appealing of tags, especially in this fandom, but I promise I'll try my hardest to make it worth your while :)

For being warm, safe, and moderately comfortable, to Rey the hospital room is still a more unsettling sleeping area than any street location. The beige walls, theoretically calming, make her think of great piles of sand, about to collapse at any given moment. The bed is hard and mechanical, the pillow utilitarian. Worst of all is the crippling loneliness that settles over her after the last orderly has gone and the lights have gone out.

The best times are when Finn comes to see her. His laughter is infectious and his smile helps her forget that she’s stuck in the hospital, full of holes and under psychiatric evaluation. She learns a bit about him; he’s an orphan, like her, raised in foster care from the age of six. He loves football, dogs, and Cool Ranch Doritos, and he absolutely loves chess, mostly because he’s supernaturally good at it. After their third game, he calls it quits on account of Rey’s rising frustration being bad for her heart in her condition. She just thinks it was because she was getting close to beating him.

Poe Dameron comes in two days after his abrupt-almost session with her, little BB in tow. He’s surprisingly crass for a therapist, and a Catholic one no less, which just makes Rey love him more.

“...and the most fucked up thing about it is that they’ve got you either way,” he explains one morning, sitting legs crossed, in the awful vinyl chair. BB has abandoned him to cuddle up with Rey in her bed, carefully avoiding her bandaged wrists.

“Yeah, I was thinking about that,” she replies, patting the dog thoughtfully. “I remember he- Kylo Ren, that is, telling me that denial would only convince them that I was mentally ill. But if I admit to doing it, I’m also mentally ill, but if I say I was attacked, then I have to give information about my attacker and it becomes a thing where I have to deal with the police and that will never end. I’ve told my story so many times, but people are always cautioning me, saying ‘oh, are you sure you want to say that?’ or “be careful how you word it.’”

“Being straightforward and honest is always the best course of action, no matter the consequences.” He makes a couple of notes on his chart. Pausing, he chews the tip of his pen and asks, “So...has he been around again?”

Rey looks up from scratching BB’s ears. “Kylo Ren? No, no he hasn’t. Do you think he will?”

“I honestly don’t know what’s going on in that bucket with two ears that he calls a head. He always seems to want to stick his massive nose into everyone else’s business, especially if it has something to do with the Church.”

“So when he found out about these...” She gestures to her wrists, tightly wrapped in fresh new gauze thanks to Finn. “...He just had to come check it out, is that it?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Hey Poe?”

He looks up from the cartoonish doodle of BB he’s been drawing on the corner of the chart paper. “Yeah Rey?”

“Do you think these are what people think they are?”

He tilts his head. “You’re asking if I think your wounds are stigmata? Well, I don’t know. A bunch of us are praying about it, but it’s been so long since anyone has seen a stigmatic in this parish. And let me tell you, people are a lot more cautious this time around.”

Rey runs her finger along BB’s orange-brown fur, frowning. It’s not the definitive answer she’s looking for. They’re her injuries, and even she doesn’t know what to think about them. The doctors have been cryptic, talking about how ‘lucky’ and ‘fortunate’ she is that she didn’t break any bones or lose too much blood, but Leia Organa and Poe have assured her that there is no such thing as luck; her situation had to be touched by God.

Despite all of their talk of faith, both church leaders are still hesitant to actually say, definitively, what her wounds are. Everyone has been cautious, tiptoeing the line between miracle and self-harm because camping in either side would result in some serious conversations being made.

Everyone has been cautious. Everyone but one.

“He thinks they’re stigmata. No doubts at all.”

Rey doesn’t have to specify who ‘he’ is.

Poe sighs. “Of course he does, but don’t let that influence you.  Kylo Ren is a creature of passion and impulse. Mister ‘It’s Easier to Ask for Forgiveness than Permission.’ He acts first and prays later. Probably thinks they’re stigmata because it would make life more interesting.”

It’s a strange situation, she thinks, to be thrust into a world where people want life to be more interesting. Back at Jakku junkyard, she would have given almost anything to live a boring, normal life, away from scrounging and dealers, away from the erratic unpredictability of life on the street.

There’s a light knock on the door, followed by Director Organa peeking her head in. “I apologize, am I interrupting? I thought your session was scheduled to be over by now, Poe.”

“It is, ma’m, I’ve just been sticking around.” Poe collects his things in his bag and nods at the dog. “Time to say goodbye to Rey, BB.”

The corgi whines, nudging its snout under Rey’s leg until Poe whistles sharply. BB obediently toddles over to him and with one final wink, Poe and his dog bow out of the room.

Leia smiles at Rey. “I’m sorry to keep you so busy when you’re supposed to be recovering, but I have another person who would like to see you, if you are still willing to take visitors?”

Considering she’s seen more visitors in the last three days than she has entertained over her entire life, Rey’s still in surprisingly high spirits. She nods, and Leia motions for someone to come in.

“Rey, this is my twin brother, Father Luke. Luke, this is Rey.”

Rey stares at the grizzled old man. He’s wearing rough black robes accented only by a little dash of white in his collar and a modest gold cross around his neck. She notices that his beard is unkempt and his skin is tanned, hinting that he spends most of his time outdoors away from civilization. His most striking feature by far is his eyes, which are the same blue as a clear spring sky.

He awkwardly steps forward and extends a gloved hand. “Hello, Rey. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She looks down at her mangled and bandaged wrists. “It’s nice to meet you but I had an, uh, incident a couple of days ago and now I’m not supposed to lift my-“

“Oh of course!” Father Luke drops his offered hand and stuffs both of them in the pockets of his robes. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think about-“

“No, it’s okay,” she stutters.

Leia observes the little scene between them and chuckles. “Well, I think you two are off to a great start. I’ll grab a coffee and be back in about fifteen minutes. Is that alright with both of you?”

Luke turns to her, panic showing in his eyes, but she just laughs again and nudges him into a chair before taking off, leaving them alone. He takes a deep breath and surreptitiously glances at the clock.

“Are you nervous?” Rey blurts out.

He looks up from fiddling with a stray thread on his robes. “Why yes, actually. I’m not sure if Leia informed you, but I don’t get out much.”

He gives her a wry smile with a twinkle in his eye, and Rey’s stress levels instantly drop. So he’s just awkward then, not conniving or demented or bizarre, unlike some of her former visitors.

“That’s alright,” she says with a half smile. “Most of my life was spent in a junkyard with crack addicts and prostitutes, so I’m not really sure how to deal with people in ‘polite society’ either.”

“Ah, I see.”

There’s a patch of uncomfortable silence punctuated by the very obnoxious wall clock in the corner. Rey glances at it and suppresses a groan when she sees that only two minutes have passed since the Director left. Sure, the older woman isn’t really that excellent of a conversationalist either, but at least an awkward conversation between three people isn’t as tense as a quasi staring contest between two.

Finally, Rey asks, “So, what do you do again?”

Luke looks up from examining his fingernails. “Oh, I’m a priest.”

She tilts her head to the side, obviously wanting more information, so he continues. “I run a small monastery halfway up Ahch-To mountain about fifty miles outside of town. There’s only a few of us sequestered there. It’s a quiet life; I do some gardening when the weather’s good. A lot of praying.” He gives her a little quirky half-smile. “I come into town once or twice a week to make sure everything is going well, visit my sister, pick up milk, you know, life stuff.”

“That sounds...well that sounds quite nice actually.”

“You could join us, if you like?” the priest offers. His eyes widen, and he hastily backtracks. “I mean, if you want to, of course. I know that sounded rather abrupt, but Leia wanted me to ask you, and you seem like a nice young lady.”

Rey stares at the rambling old man. He’s paints a curious figure swathed in his dark robes, but without the menacing stature of her previous dark clothed visitor. His face is obviously sunbathed and aged, but he still has the eyes of a much younger man, eager and bright. He reminds her of popular descriptions of Santa Claus, without the jolly belly and red suit of course, someone warm and friendly who manages to know all of your secrets.

“It’s too soon, I’m sorry. We should talk first.” He fidgets with his robes again before blurting out, “So, how are you doing?”

She shrugs. “As well as can be expected, I guess. Everyone has been very nice, especially Poe and one of the nurses here named Finn. I’m not as sore or tired as I was a couple of days ago.”

“Are your injuries healing?”

“I think so. Finn, the nurse who helps me, he thinks that they’re healing really well.”

Luke nods, a sad smile on his face. “Did Leia tell you that I’ve seen those marks before?”

“Really?” Rey gasps. “What were they? Did anyone find out? Did the person recover?”

He looks at her wistfully. “There was a stigmatic in this parish before,” he comments, not really answering her questions. “He was a very popular figure in the community, very charismatic but also dark and mysterious.”

“Like Kylo Ren,” she interjects. Luke frowns, so she asks, “What’s up with that guy? Do you know anything about Kylo Ren?”

“Do I know anything about ‘Kylo Ren?’” he repeats, finger quoting the name. “What I know about him could fill a Dickens novel, and yet he’s still such a mystery to me. He’s Leia’s son, did you know that? My nephew.”

Rey’s pulse quickens. “Kylo Ren is your nephew?” she asks, curiosity rising.

“Basically yes, but as you can probably imagine he wasn’t called ‘Kylo Ren’ when he was born. Can you imagine naming a kid something so macabre? His real name is Ben. Ben Solo, after my and Leia’s uncle.”

Ben Solo. For some reason the name just doesn’t fit the dour man in black that graced her hospital room several days ago. She frowns. “Why would he change his name?”

Luke’s eyes darken and he looks _angry,_ or as close to angry an old bearded priest can look. “His handler, Reverend Snoke, inspired the name change. Inspired a lot of changes with Ben. He said ‘Ren’ was a more universal name. Took it from Confucianism, with Kylo tagged on as a first name.” He shrugs. “I guess they were trying to attract those spiritual, Oprah types. Apparently it worked.”

Enthralled, Rey leans forward. “I don’t understand. Why would this Snoke person care about your nephew?”

The weight of many years seems to fall on Luke, and his face settles into hundreds of tiny wrinkles. She notices his hands shake as he folds them together in his lap, blunt nails digging into weathered fingers. “It was our fault. Leia wanted Ben to be a priest and thought he would go far in the church. He was always so in tune spiritually, and perceptive, able to understand deep concepts and explain them to whoever would listen. I started him on that path and then Snoke took advantage of him. Pulled him away from the true Church and into one of his own making.”

Luke shakes his head. “He was one of my brightest pupils. I had never seen someone with a faith so strong and such an immense thirst for knowledge.”

She senses there’s something more to the story, but decides not to press it. “But why, F-father?” Rey’s tongue slips over the still unfamiliar word. “If his faith was so strong, why did he leave?”

“He was, well, _seduced,_ I guess. There’s no other word for it, really. It was that time in Ben’s life where all young people start questioning  the status quo, and Snoke took advantage of that.” He pauses to reflect on his words and then continues. “The Church believes that humans are sinful, that we possess a sinful nature, and that this sinful nature must be tempered.  Do you understand what I mean by that?”

She nods her head.

“Well, Ben didn’t believe that. He still doesn’t believe it. He thinks that humans are inherently good and, stemming from that belief, he believes that our human thoughts and desires should be encouraged because of their goodness. Can you see the problems with that branch of thought?”

“Well, what about murderers?” she postures. “How can their thoughts be good when their thoughts are what drive them to kill people?”

Luke claps his hands together once and rests them lightly under his chin. “Exactly! People need guidelines, _society_ needs guidelines to function, and people like Snoke and Ben, see those guidelines as arbitrary rules that keep us from our true potential.”

Rey knows the limits of human potential, has _lived_ to those limits more than she cares to recall. She knows what people will do when faced with hunger, poverty, and the opportunity to end their troubles. People like Unkar, her old dealer, who had notoriously sold a twelve year old girl named Bethany to a biker gang in exchange for protection, and bragged about it the next day. He took it at a sign of his resourcefulness, that he was willing to bargain with ‘his goods’ in exchange for safety.

To this day, Rey can’t see sandy blonde curls without her heart breaking.

She looks up at Luke inquisitively. “So what is your personal philosophy? That people are ultimately bad and must be stopped?”

He laughs. It’s louder than she expects, and higher, and she smiles despite herself. Father Luke’s laugh is surprisingly infectious, hinting at the carefree young man hidden under his weathered exterior.  

“Far from that. People can be good, but they need to follow the guidelines given to us by God,” he responds. “There can be no Light without God, and where there is no light, there is darkness. Not heeding God’s commandments opens the heart to darkness, and not tempering our emotions and natural inclinations turns us away from the light.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny Bible, but instead of opening it, he just recites, “First John two verse nine says ‘He that says he is in the Light and hates his brother, is in darkness even until now.’”

Rey shudders. All of the talk of light and dark gives her the creeps. A week ago she didn’t consider herself a religious or even spiritual person, just a survivor. She didn’t have time for all of this, but now...now it’s become her life, for better or for worse. These marks have catapulted her into a world where a grown man can talk about Light and Dark and God and stigmata with so much sincerity, she’s having a hard time _not_ believing him.

“So that brings us here.” Luke rests his hands on his thighs. “My sister has instructed me to inform you that there is a place for you at Atch-To monastery for a few months, if you wish to join us.” His voice is monotonous, fitting an order from the Director, but his twinkling eyes betray the fact that he’s extending the offer as well. “The Church has a long history of housing and protecting people with stigmata.”

Rey chews on her bottom lip. “In exchange for...?”

He looks almost offended. “Nothing for us, of course! Extended life on the monastery would require you to dedicate your life to being a bride of Christ, but the initial stay comes with no strings attached.”

It’s a tempting offer, but Rey’s been around long enough to know that nothing in life is truly free. She notices how Luke’s eyes often dart down to the bandages on her wrists, exactly how his nephew’s did days earlier. It makes her skin crawl.

She scoots back onto the mound of pillows on her bed, gingerly favouring her arms and legs. “It sounds wonderful. I’ll definitely consider it.”

“Please do.” The priest raises his hand to fiddle with the white collar at his neck. “Rey, I have to be honest with you. I was very reluctant to come here today.”

“Scared of hospitals?”

He laughs again, and the sound tickles the corners of Rey’s mouth until they twitch. “Me? Scared of hospitals? Now why on Earth would I be scared of hospitals?” He makes to scratch his nose with his right hand then, with his left, pulls the sleeve down to reveal a wrist made of metal and ceramic.

Her eyes go wide and he replaces the fabric, his eyes still twinkling. “Okay, you caught me. I’ve had some pretty bad experiences here, but that’s not the reason why I didn’t want to come in today. I’m-I’m a private person, Rey. I like to keep people at an arm’s length and I’m not quick to make friends, not anymore. But when Leia told me your situation, God moved me to come here.” He shrugs. “I’ve been blessed with so much at Ahch-To, it’s about time I extended those blessings to someone else.”

Rey’s heart opens for him; a man who seems to be as broken as she is, but willing to work towards repairing himself for the future.  She _wants_ to say yes, but there’s a voice in the back of her head that murmurs, _‘They want to keep you. Trap you away in their monastery like a relic, no voice and no freedom. They just want to control you and these marks you have._ ”

“I-I appreciate that,” she breathes, “But-“

“But you can’t agree to it yet,” he finishes. “I understand.”

Luke rises easily from the chair, surprisingly spry for a man who appears to be in his mid-sixties.  “Let Poe or Leia know once you make up your mind. I’ll be waiting.”

He walks over to the door and opens it, revealing his sister on the other side, about to knock. The two share a knowing smile, and she shakes her head and lowers her fist.

They’ve just turned their backs to leave when Rey calls out, “Father Luke!”

He pauses at the door. “Go on without me,” he instructs Leia, who smiles and continues down the hall. “Yes, Rey?”

Heart pounding, she wonders, “You never finished telling me about the first stigmatic, the one whose marks you saw. You never told me what happened.”

That wistful, faraway look comes back, as if he isn’t quite staring at her but past her. “It was many years ago,” he murmurs. “Many, many years. I was a different person back then, right at the beginning of my journey. It was my first real experience with the mystery of God and unexplainable phenomena.  And-“

Rey raises her eyebrows. “And?”

His eyes darken. “And I would rather not talk about it. Not yet.”

He shuts the door behind him.


	5. Testimony

By the second week of her hospitalization, Rey can tell that word of her injuries has spread throughout the ward. It starts with Amelia the orderly, who has taken to doing the sign of the cross whenever she enters and exits Rey’s room. Sure it’s kind of unusual, but Rey’s willing to let it slide until Amelia brings in her son’s soccer cleats and asks Rey to bless them before the big game.

Then there’s the Sisters of St. George. Poe informs Rey of their name when he finally becomes sick of her calling them “that creepy old lady gang.” They appear on day six of her confinement and never enter her room, but always congregate on the other side of the window. They pray, mostly, but also read the Bible and sing an occasional hymn or two if the staff allow it.  One time Finn changed Rey’s wrist dressings within their eyeshot, and their frantic prayers in reaction could be heard three halls away.

The worst by far is Kylo Ren, not because of any persistence on his part, but because Rey swears that he’s watching her, even though there is absolutely no proof. In a fit of paranoia, she even gets Poe and Finn to scrub her room for cameras or microphones. They find nothing, of course, but their result does nothing to assuage her nagging feeling that _somehow_ he’s keeping tabs on her.

“I just don’t get it, Rey,” Finn says while combing her room’s curtains for the third time. “He was only in here once for twenty minutes at most, and you were with him the entire time. When would he have had time to plant something here?”

She groans, scrubbing her face with her hands. “I don’t _know,_ but I just keep having this feeling that someone’s watching me. I don’t understand it. It started after he came, and has just been getting worse and worse every day.”

Poe pops his head out from the bathroom where he’s inspecting the pipes under the sink. “I understand what you mean. That guy is creepy as fuck. I don’t know how he does it, but he gets in your head and stays there, like your brain is his own personal campground.”

His comment strikes her as a bit more personal than expected, so Rey waits until Poe comes back for a session to ask him, “How well do you know Kylo Ren?”

Raising his eyebrows, Poe shakes his head and taps the end of his pen on his chart. BB’s ears perk up at the noise. “Now is not the time for asking me questions about my past, this is our time to talk about how you’re doing.”

“But I’m curious, Poe,” she wheedles. “You said he got in your head one time.”

He glances over at the clock and sighs. “Well, maybe for just a minute, if it makes you happy.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Ren and I were both part of a pilot program run by Father Luke for young boys who wanted to join the priesthood one day. Well, whose _parents_ wanted them to join the priesthood. It’s actually a bit more complicated than that- Father Luke is kind of a monk-priest hybrid...”

“So your parents wanted you to be a monk?” Rey gestures to his relatively normal therapist outfit and his adorable dog, who seems to be trying to sleep at his feet. “What happened with that?”

“Ben, I mean _Ren,_ happened. He’d always been a really weird kid. Quiet, but really intense. He had this way of speaking to people; it wasn’t condescending, but it was like he could see their soul. It was pretty messed up stuff. His mom said it was because he was full of the Spirit, but that was bullshit. Anyways, we were a bunch of teenaged guys stuck together listening to Father Luke talking about a life of pious dedication, no belongings, no sex, no relationships, and Ren wasn’t having any of it.”

Poe scrunches up his face, as if he has to physically drudge up the memories from the back of his brain. “Ren turned most of the guys against Luke. It was stewing for a while, and then one day he showed up spouting all sorts of heresies with all of cronies backing him up. It was genuinely horrifying, the way they treated Luke.”

Rey thinks about the kindly old man with the sad, weathered face, and feels a lump growing in her throat. “So what happened to his group?”

“Well, it was destroyed after that. The majority of them ended up going with Ren. He wasn’t the oldest of them, but he seemed to be the brains behind the operation. A couple of the older ones got a place together, and eventually they started up their own church. A cult, really, but who’s asking at this point?” Poe laughs harshly. “Oh yeah, and the rectory we had our classes in ‘mysteriously’ burned down a day later. There was no conclusive evidence, but come on.”

Rey sits back in her bed, shocked. She’s lived in the city almost all her life, but she never had any idea so much drama was percolating in the admittedly quite vibrant religious community. “So I’m assuming Kylo Ren wasn’t successful in convincing you to join him?”

“I’ve got to be honest with you, Rey, they didn’t even ask me.” Poe taps his pen furiously while glaring at his chart. “And a small part of me is still so cheesed. He told me I was too week, just one of the ‘sheep,’ he called me. And it’s so pathetic, but even though he was a fifteen year old twerp with massive ears and an insane amount of acne, his words did something to me. I still can’t really get over it.”

“So you do get it.”

“”I do. Kylo Ren is brain cancer, simple as that. He gets into your head and turns your cells against you.”

She’s about to add more to the conversation, about Ren trying to convince her that the church wanted to use her, keep her as a relic and so on, but her voice catches in her throat. It could be that he really got to her, or it could be her own sense of self preservation, but she decides to keep that knowledge close to the chest for know. In the admittedly very rare scenario that the malignant tumor known as Kylo Ren turns out to be right, it’s better for her to leave Poe out of it, if he’s not already involved.

*  
_Liver with Rice._

_Three Meat Kibble._

_Whipped Chicken Souffle_

_Salmon Pate Delight_

“Kill me now.”

Being the pastor of a mega-church as well as a best-selling author should afford a human being some sense of dignity and fame but for some inexplicable reason Ben finds himself, on a Friday night no less, with nothing better to do than go out shopping for _cat food_ with Phasma, Hux, and Hux’s odious cat Millicent.

It’s no surprise, really, that Hux is so invested in his cat’s well being. He has no friends, as far as Ben is aware of, no girlfriend or anyone to keep him company. Millicent is a staple in Hux’s life and is, therefore, also a staple at the church office. Ben’s predominantly black wardrobe hasn’t been the same since she joined them.

Phasma is busy texting while Hux squats on the pet store floor, meticulously examining the nutritional information on every tin of food. The fluorescent lighting is apparently hell on his eyesight, because he’s taking at least five minutes per variety, and there must be at least a hundred in the store. It is therefore up to Ben to mind Millicent, who is on a leash and not very impressed with the situation. She hisses at Ben, who has half a mind to hiss back.

“So, what ended up happening with that girl? The one your mom called about.”

He looks over at Phasma, who has pocketed her phone and is staring at him expectantly. He doesn’t know why, but his heart starts pounding furiously in his chest. “Uh, the one at the hospital? It was just a weird Catholic thing they were freaking out about. Nothing important.”

“That’s not what Superintendant Snoke told me. He said there was a girl in the hospital with some weird injuries, and that the old-schoolers think it’s stigmata.” Hux doesn’t even tear his eyes from the can of cat food, but his voice is acerbic, like he knows Ben is fuming at every word.

“When did Snoke call you?” the younger man spits. “ _Why_ did he call you?”

“He was just confirming some details about his trip up here in a few months, and mentioned something that he heard through the grapevine. He was wondering whether you knew anything about it through your Catholic connection. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Hux looks back and smirks. “We’re not deposing you just yet.”

Ben’s blood is boiling, and he resists the urge to kick Millicent down the aisle. It’s not that they compete, per say. Hux is the brains, Ben is the spiritual equivalent of the brawn; that’s the way it’s been at the First Order ever since the church was formed. He’s the first to admit that he’s not the best at administration, while Hux is a black hole, devoid of charisma. They make a good team, as long as they aren’t trying to kill each other.

Phasma perks up. “You know what, I’ve never actually heard your testimony, Ren.”

Ben frowns at her. “So what, you want to hear it _now_? At the pet store?”

“Well, it’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

He glares down at Hux, who is Googling the definition of ‘carrageenan,’ and groans.

“Okay, fine. Here’s the condensed version. I was raised Catholic, in the most Catholic of families. My father is a stock broker who left my mom when I was a kid, my mom is a religious nut, the director of Catholic social services, her brother is a monastic priest, Benedictine, I believe. Long story short, my mom wanted me to be a priest like my uncle. Black robes, cross necklace, having to pleasure myself by diddling little kids, you know? That wasn’t for me.”

Phasma nods. “So you left.”

“So I left. I had met Superintendant Snoke when I was in my early teens. My mom had taken me to picket in front of the Planned Parenthood downtown, and Snoke stopped to talk to me. Told me that I was wasting my time, that the Spirit told him I was destined for bigger and better things. So when I left the Church I called him up, and the rest is history.”

“So wait.” Hux pivots on his squatted legs until he faces the pair behind him. “I didn’t ever think of this. You have no siblings whatsoever, and no cousins. So when you said your Mom wanted you to be a priest, that would have been it, hey?  You’re the last one, their last chance at procreation, and they wanted you to take an eternal vow of celibacy. Your family would have been done.”

 Ben shakes his head. “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter to them? They don’t care about legacy, and they don’t care about family. They don’t think about things like normal people; they just assume that God will reward their sacrifice in _some_ way. It’s one big circle jerk.”

“A life without sex, wow.” Phasma almost looks misty-eyed. “I can’t even imagine.”

Frowning, Ben stares down at Millicent as he tries to suppress the flush spreading across his cheeks. Sure, he left the church so that he could be free to explore his humanity, but there’s some indoctrination that’s still too deep for him to break: He doesn’t pirate movies, doesn’t use the Lord’s name in vain and, since he’s not yet married, has never-

He shakes his head. Snoke’s constantly telling him that his inability to fully overcome the brainwashing from his former life is his greatest weakness, and Ben’s inclined to agree, but he still can’t quite make that mental leap. Something is always holding him back, and it’s usually the memory of his mother’s brown eyes, full of reproach.

“ _We must offer our bodies as living sacrifices, Ben,”_ she used to tell him, often before she would leave him at home so she could go out for a call or to a conference.  His father Han, bitter about being left behind with ‘the kid,’ would often snark back. “ _Well, you haven’t been making any sacrifices to_ me _lately, that’s for sure.”_

Han had left for good when Ben was 10, explaining that a stock broker could be of little use away from the stock market. It was an excuse, of course, and a poor one at that, and it left young Ben at the mercy of his mother’s acerbic parenting style aided by his uncle’s awkward attempts at affection.  His father had never understood the Church, and definitely did not understand the Skywalker twins’ deep loyalty to the institution. ‘ _The only thing I rely on is my good sense. None of this faith mumbo-jumbo.”_

Ben’s not shy about it; he absolutely blames his parents’ abysmal marriage for anything and everything wrong with his life. It was irresponsible, plain and simple. His dad knocked up his mom and his mom, being from a good Catholic family of course, had insisted on marriage. Ben assumes that they loved each other at some point, but by the time he started being aware of things, his parents’ relationship had deteriorated into multiple lessons on avoidance and bickering.

“So,” Phasma says, interrupting Ben’s reminiscing. “Do you miss it?”

He scowls. “Miss what? The irritating drone of Catholic school? My uncle’s insistence that scripture memorization is the key to spiritual growth? No, I miss none of it. My life opened up the moment I walked away from all of that. It only exists to limit us.”

“True,” Hux mumbles from the floor. Finally satisfied with his examination of every single variety of cat food, he daintily procures five cans and places them in the basket.

Ben frowns, his irritation starting to throb behind his eyes. “Is that it? We’ve spent a quarter of our lives here and you’re only getting _five_ cans?”

Hux rounds on him. “Oh like you have anything better to do,” he spits. He leaps to his feet in his characteristic jerky manner and grabs Millicent’s leash from Ben’s hands.  “You just wish you had someone to spend this much time on. Someone who depends on you and cares for you.”

Ben’s about to bark back that a _cat_ barely qualifies as something with which a human can have an actual relationship, but two things hold him back. First of all, Hux isn’t wrong. Ben has always been a bit of a dichotomy; a charismatic loner who can make acquaintances but never friends. His posse/staff aside, there’s really no one that he ‘hangs out’ with and, though it doesn’t bother him as much as it would both normal people, he can’t deny that a small part of him craves what Hux describes- someone he can take care of and spend time on.

The second thing that holds his tongue is the fact that he’s still not sure about the exact nature of Hux’s relationship with Millicent and, at this point at least, he really doesn’t want to be enlightened.

_*  
_ There’s a knock at the door.

Rey glances over at the annoyingly loud clock on her wall and frowns.  7:45 PM. Her only appointment over the last couple of days has been Poe, and he always comes and leaves before 2. With a little trepidation, she calls out, “Um, come in?”

Finn’s smiling face pops in the doorway and her heart swells.

“Finn!” she gasps. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you all day!”

He enters the room, shrugs off his coat and duffel bag and sits across from her. His face looks tired, bags looming under his eyes, but his smile is as bright as ever. “Yeah, I had to cover a double shift in emerg. Man, stuff gets weird really fast there. You would not believe the things people will try to shove up their butt.”

Cringing, Rey shuffles closer to him. “And I suppose it’s your job to retrieve those objects?”

“One of my many talents.” He grins at her. “What have you been up to today?”

“Oh you know, sitting around mostly. Getting caught up with my soaps. Poe came in today- he asked about you.”

“Yeah? Poe’s such an awesome guy, so thoughtful. Did your session go well, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It seemed good.”

It was a lot more of the same, if she was perfectly honest. Poe is an excellent therapist, but Rey’s starting to wonder whether some of her anxiety and stress isn’t due to her injury and the trauma around it, but caused by the looming sense of cabin fever that’s encroaching on her sanity.

“Did any more admirers come in today? You know I saw Amelia walking around with a box of blue pens; did she ask you to bless those too?”

Rey shakes her head. “No, it was quiet. Only the sisters came in, and they didn’t talk to me as usual.” She pauses. “Poe did talk about what my plans are for when I’m discharged. Dr. Watts says that I should be out by the end of the week.”

“Huh. Seems about right.” Finn leans on the back legs of the chair, wobbling precariously. “How do you feel about that?”

“Now who’s the therapist?” she says, smiling.

Her smile is infectious, especially when it’s so wide her nose wrinkles. Finn feels warmth spread through his chest, throwing him off balance, and the chair almost tips over. He recovers, but barely, and chokes out, “Certainly not me. I would be the worst therapist ever. First off, I can barely even sit on a chair without hurting myself. I hate to see what damage I could do to someone’s mental health.”

“Nah. You’re a good listener, and I think that’s the most important part.”

“Okay then.” He sits up straight and adjusts some imaginary glasses on his nose. “Tell me about your feelings around being discharged. Are you excited, stressed, happy, sad?”

Rey grabs one of her pillows to her chest and squeezes it tightly. “Honestly? I don’t know what I feel. Stressed mostly, I guess. I don’t really know where I’m going to go. I could go back home, but Father Luke also offered me a place to stay at his monastery for a couple of months.” She huffs, blowing a couple of stray strands of hair out of her eyes.

 “Oh I got this! So this is what we do.” Finn reaches into his bag and pulls out a yellow legal pad and a blue ballpoint pen. He divides the page in half with a thick blue line, then labels one side ‘Home’ and the other side ‘Monastery.’ He divides each side in half as well, constructing a total of four columns. “We make a pros and cons list. It’s the most effective decision making tool in the entire galaxy. All the big decisions I’ve made I have based on a pros and cons list made on this very pad of paper.”

Rey frowns. “Really? What’s so special about it?”

He looks so offended, she almost regrets asking. “What’s so _special_ about my decision pad? It’s very nature as a legal pad makes everything written on it seem so much more serious and official.”

“Okay, fine,” she says, humouring him. “Um, a pro for the monastery is that it is safe. And free.”

Finn dutifully scratches down the points. “It’s out in the country too. Is that a pro?”

She glances out the hotel window at the countless high rises on the city skyline. Her heart clenches. “I don’t know. I’ve never really lived out in the country before. I don’t know if I’ll like it.”

He nods, and adds ‘Country?’ followed by several question marks in both columns.

“I guess a pro for going back home is that I know people, sort of. I mean, I know Gloria from the scrap pile, and Max from the auto yard.”

Finn frowns, adding ‘Friends?’ to the appropriate column. “What about some cons?”

“Back home is hard,” she muses, playing with a loose thread on the sheet of her bed. “There’s no guarantee of anything, not even food or water. There’s a lot people competing for not a lot of stuff, and people can be ruthless.” She pulls her knees to her body and hugs them.

Putting down his pen, Finn reaches out to lay a comforting hand over one of hers. “Rey, you don’t have to go back, you know.”

“But what choice do I have, really? You’re putting down these pros and cons, but either way I’m trapped. If I go home...”

Her face looks so lost, so desolate, that he can almost see the life she’s lived, the struggles she’s had to deal with.

He shakes his head. “That’s not really an option, and you know that.”

She huffs with frustration. “Yeah, but going with Father Luke to Ahch-to is pretty messed up too. What if they kidnap me or something?”

He laughs. “Rey, I’m honestly not the biggest fan of religion by any means, but I’m pretty sure an ancient priest and a group of old nuns aren’t going to hold you hostage. He said that you had a few months to stay there, no strings attached, right? Well, as long as you keep in contact with me and Poe, it should be fine.”

“You think so?” She grabs his hand and squeezes it.

He squeezes back. “I swear. You just let me know, and I’ll drive up that mountain and rescue you. I’ll fight all those nuns too. Poe can come and bring BB along, and we’ll take them together.”

She beams. “You’re my hero, Finn. Honestly. Thank you so much.”

A part of him is screaming _this is a mistake, you need to protect her from those freaks,_ but he knows that, out of the two, the monastery is by far the better fit for her. At least she’ll be warm and fed, and surrounded by people who at least pretend to have a solid grasp on morality.

He grins back at her brilliant smile. “The pleasure is all mine.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I think FinnRey is super adorable.


	6. First Steps

“ Well, I guess that’s it.”

Rey and Finn stand awkwardly in the doorway of her former hospital room. He’s holding a banker’s box filled with her meagre belongings while she has her ratty coat slung over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” she sighs, running a hand over the freshly washed sheets pulled taut over the bed. “It’s funny...this was the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in.”

She looks around the awful beige coloured room and feels a pang of nostalgia clench at her chest. Her lifetime on the street afforded her very little comforts, evidenced by the lightness of the box in Finn’s arms. This room, with its warmth and regular food, felt more like her imagined idea of ‘home’ than anything else she’s ever experienced.

Finn clears his throat. “Hey, we should probably get going. Father Luke is expecting you at the monastery in less than an hour.”

“Oh, yeah.” With one final pat, she leaves the bed and the room, following him down through the emergency department and out to Poe’s waiting car.

Finn deposits the box in the back seat then turns to face her. “So, uh, good luck,” he says, flashing her a double thumbs up.

She groans and pulls him in to a massive hug. “Don’t even try. You’re going to visit me every week at least, and call me too.”

“If it’s allowed, and if Poe is willing to drive me,” he adds, squeezing her even tighter. “I’d hate to get you in trouble with the nuns.”

“That’s true.” She pulls away, beaming. “Thank you for everything, Finn.”

“Just doing my job,” he responds, but she can see the hint of a deep blush creep up into his cheeks.

Poe gives a gentle tap on his car horn. “Break it up, you two. We’ve got a monastery to crash.”

Finn runs over to the passenger side to open the door for her. Rey slides in and blows him a farewell kiss, then her and Poe are away, driving down the winding road to Ahch-To monastery.

Staring out the window, she marvels at the grassy fields framing the barely used back road. “I can’t believe there’s so much green this close to the city.”

Poe smiles. “Yeah, the contrast is crazy, hey?”

“Uh huh.” She presses her forehead to the window. “I’ve been downtown for so long, I’ve almost forgotten what countryside looks like.”

“How long has it been?” he asks.

Rey chuckles.  “Too long. I’ve been in the city almost as long as I can remember.”

“How did that happen, if you don’t mind me asking?” he adds gently. “You said previously that you had been on the streets since childhood, but we never really expanded on that in our sessions.”

“Is this going to be another session then?” she teases. Sitting back in her seat, she closes her eyes and drudges up the memories. “I guess I never motioned it because there isn’t much to say. I was about six or seven...someone, a bearded man, dropped me off with Unkar Plutt at the junkyard. He’s sort of the kingpin of the whole operation. He started me on scrap salvaging right when I arrived, then moved me to running after I turned twelve.”

“And what were you running for him?” Poe asks, smoothly guiding the car around a tight corner.

“Started on crack. Once I was a bit older and he trusted me more he moved me onto smack.”

It’s jarring to hear those harsh words uttered in her impeccably accented voice, but it only highlights the incredible disconnect between her poised confidence and the harsh upbringing she was forged from.

“It’s amazing that you were able to survive that,” he murmurs.

“I guess so. But it’s all I ever really knew, so it’s not surviving, it’s just _living._ ” She cracks open her eyes, taking in the beautiful landscape.  “It’s weird though. I always felt like there was someone watching over me; someone taking care of me. It obviously wasn’t Plutt, but maybe someone in the junkyard? I don’t know, I’ve thought about it a lot, and it does seem like I was a bit luckier than most.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well when I collected scraps as a kid, I always seemed to find the best stuff. It would be easier to clean, more valuable, stuff like that. And, considering how a lot of the kids in the heap turned out, I made it out pretty much in one piece, which is almost unheard of. Well, mostly in one piece.” She absentmindedly fingers the thin wrappings at her wrists.

Poe nods his head in her direction. “Those things still bothering you?”

She shrugs. “Not really. Just itchy, that’s all. The doctor says it’s because they’re healing.”

“Yeah, it’s a good sign.”

They fall back into a comfortable silence, Poe watching the road while Rey watches the trees flash by. The quiet is delicious to her after staying for two weeks in a busy hospital, and living outdoors for most of her life. It’s amazing to just sit and stare at nature, worry free, and the time flies by until the car begins to groan slightly from the incline as the road transitions to a rough mountain pass, and the trees become thinner and far between.

“We’re almost there,” Poe informs her, brow furrowed.

She shrinks back into her seat as the car starts vibrating strangely. “Uh, is everything alright?”

“Uh huh, don’t you worry. This old gal’s got a lot of life left in her.” He frowns. “Though next time I think I’ll bring the Jeep instead of the Civic. The gravel road is a bit tough.”

Despite the car’s shaking and groaning, they manage to make it to the rough, stone hewn monastery gate unscathed. Poe unloads the box from the back seat as Rey climbs out of the passenger side, staring in awe at the beauty around her.

It’s as if the buildings around them were formed with the Earth itself.  The mossy green grass gives way to ancient stone, cut and stacked to form the walls that surround the complex. Each stone is a different shade of grey, from the lightest dove to an almost coal black, and stacked together they mimic waves of a monochromatic ocean. She strokes her fingers across the rust touched wrought iron of the gate itself and hums with contentment.

“It seems so permanent, you know?” she says, and takes in a lungful of the crisp mountain air. “Everything is so strong and fresh and good.”

Poe smiles at her elation. “It’s nice, hey?”

He pushes open the gate, and gestures for Rey to walk through. The steps are narrow but steady, each carved from the same stone that makes up the walls.

There’s a woman walking down the path to meet them, her face calm and serene. She’s wearing the typical outfit of a nun; black robes, black habit, a modest cross around her neck. “Rey?” she calls out.

Rey pauses. “Yes?” A slight tremble in her voice betrays her nervousness.

The woman smiles. “Wonderful. I’m Sister Mary. It’s a pleasure to have you stay with us here at Ahch-To.”

Rey looks over at Poe, who nods his head. “Sister Mary’s been here for ages. She’s Father Luke’s right hand lady.”

The older woman scoffs. “Now, I wouldn’t go that far. Poe Dameron, you’re such a troublemaker. What does Leia even see in you?”

“My devilish good looks, I guess.” He flashes his winning grin, and she blushes.

“What a dog. I hope he’s been treating you well, Rey?”

Rey nods enthusiastically. “Yes, he’s been amazing. Everyone has been amazing so far. And thank you so much for this opportunity to stay with you in your home.”

“Oh nonsense.” Sister Mary turns and beckons her up the path. “It’s not my home, dear. It’s God’s.”

After a short climb, the stone staircase ushers them to a beautiful courtyard laid with an intricate mosaic composed of smooth, multicoloured rocks. The mosaic looks like clouds, or air, or waves; ethereal and mystical. In the centre of the courtyard is a large collection of raised garden beds, each full of almost-ripe fruits and vegetables.

“We grow almost all of our own produce here,” the nun says, chuckling quietly at Rey’s look of wonder. “Part of our duties involve tending the beds and the other gardens on the grounds.”

Surrounding the courtyard is a massive horseshoe shaped stone building. A tall spire topped with a cross extends from the middle of the U-shape, marking it as the chapel, while the two respective arms show hints of their contents through cloudy old windows. Judging from the basket lined shelves, one corner houses a kitchen and its counterpart on the chapel’s opposite side seems to be a library.

“Is this where you stay?” Rey asks, gesturing to the building.

Sister Mary nods. “My fellow Sisters and I stay in the eastern wing, while Father Luke has the west wing all to himself.”

Rey frowns. “He’s by himself? So there’s no other men here?”

“No.” Sister Mary’s eyes dart to Poe for a brief moment, then she continues. “There was an effort to encourage more young men to join us here, but that ended...badly.”

A flash of angry brown eyes and dark hair burns in Rey’s vision for a moment, then vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “Right.”

There’s an awkward silence, punctuated only by the squawking of a magpie from the forest surrounding the monastery. Poe shifts the box in his hands and says sheepishly, “So, where should I drop this off?”

“Yes, of course.” Sister Mary gives herself a little shake, then walks over to the far wing and opens a small wooden door. “After you.”

*

Several hours later, Rey flops onto her new bed, sprawls onto her back and moans, rubbing her belly with both hands. The meal tonight was amazing, full of fresh green beans, little baby potatoes, and roasted garlic that was so divine, she thought for a moment that she had died and gone to Heaven. It makes sense though; Father Luke had explained that the monastery exists both to mimic the behaviours of the early Church as well as emulate what Heaven might be like one day. Poe had cheekily added, “Oh, you mean with a ratio of one man to eight women?” which had even managed to pull a smile from Luke’s wrinkled old face.

It was heartwarming to see that, even here in a very solemn and holy setting, there is still a place for humour and friendship. Poe had stayed for a couple of hours after supper, swapping stories with the sisters and even playing a couple of old hymns on the library piano. Finally, when it had come time for him to leave, he had pressed a folded sheet of paper into Rey’s hand, whispering “just call if you need anything” into her ear as he pulled her into the fiercest of hugs.

She grabs for the paper from her nightstand and smoothes it out on her upturned thighs.

_For Poe: 555-119-9464 For Finn: 555-876-6737._

There’s no phone in her room. It’s a minor thing, but something she finds off-putting nonetheless. To make or receive a call, one must go down to the common area just outside of the kitchens where an antique rotary dial phone sits wedged into a little desk nook.

“It’s for accountability,” explained Sister Constance, a nun just a few years older than Rey. “There should be no secrets in this place.”

“No privacy whatsoever?” Rey had inquired, concerned, imagining a future full of bunk beds and communal showering.

The nun had laughed. “No, there’s privacy here for bathing and other things. However, as far as relationships and interpersonal communications go, there is no need for discretion here. Romantic relationships aren’t allowed, and any family burdens we share as a group. Secrets would only serve to divide our community.”

Rey groans and tosses the paper with Poe and Finn’s numbers back onto her nightstand. She understands, she really does, but for the first time in her life she actually has people she would want to talk on the phone with, so the inability to privatize this very important social interaction just chafes her a bit.

Still the food is amazing, the people are kind, and the view from her room is _amazing._ Lying back in her bed, she closes her eyes and ekes out a smile.

_Everything is going to work out. I can feel it._

*

A timid knock at the door wakes Rey from a deep sleep. Her room is still pitch black, save for a tiny shaft of light pooling in from the outside hallway.  At first she assumes that she imagined the sound, but a second tiny knock and a timid, “Hello?” from outside the door confirms that, yes, someone is trying to wake her up before the crack of dawn.

She pries her eyes open. “Who is it?” she asks, voice gravelly from sleep.

“It’s Sister Martha. We’re all going down to the chapel for Vigils and we were wondering if you would like to join us.” The young nun’s voice is hopeful and perky, the exact opposite of how Rey feels this morning.

“Sure, I guess. What time are you starting?” Rey looks around the room for a clock, and finally settles on an old tin alarm clock teetering precariously atop her bookshelf.

_4:37_

“We’re starting at five o’clock.”

_Fuck,_ Rey thinks, then instantly berates herself for cursing within a monastery, even if it was in her head. “I’ll be down in a bit,” she manages to croak out.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she mumbles under her breath as she peels herself out of bed, rolls over to the bag of clothing next to the dresser, and virtually pours herself into a pair of ratty khakis and a sweater. Her body feels like it’s made out of putty, no doubt due to the combination of stress, delicious food, and a new bed. The early hour doesn’t help either.

She makes it down to the kitchen with eight minutes to spare. Her eyes dart around the Spartan setting for something that looks like breakfast or a hot beverage, but the counters are bare and there’s no one loitering around to ask for help. Confused and hungry, Rey slinks down the hall and waits outside of the closed chapel doors for a familiar face.

“Rey?”

She spins around to see Sister Martha hurrying over from the library, her habit in place and robes perfectly immaculate. “I’m so sorry, I hope you haven’t been waiting long. Everyone else is inside.”

Rey gestures awkwardly to the door. “Oh, I didn’t know if I could just walk in or not, so I thought it would be best to wait.”

The sister brushes past her to gently push open the ornate wooden door. “Oh yes, it’s fine. They won’t have started yet.” She pauses. “Does it still hurt?”

The young woman’s eyes dart to her wrists before coming back up to meet her eyes. Rey shrugs, unselfconsciously. “No, not really. They’re itchy still and sometimes they ache when I wake up, they’ve been way worse. It’s manageable.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Sister Martha ushers her into the beautiful chapel space, illuminated by candlelight. Despite being attached to the dormitories, it feels like a fully separate building, its walls so much more ancient looking and majestic than the living quarters. Rey cranes her neck to try and capture every nook and cranny but it’s impossible. The chapel appears to be a virtual labyrinth of tiny halls and doors leading to alcoves intended for prayer or meditation.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes to herself, for Martha has already assumed her position next to the other sisters on a worn wooden pew at the front of the sanctuary. Rey hangs back, unsure, then finally decides to take a seat on one of the back benches.

Father Luke emerges from one of the small back rooms, sombre and serene. She expects him to take his position at the ambo on the stage, but instead he sits in the pew across the aisle from the sisters and bows his head in prayer.

The silence and darkness envelop the room with an amazing sense of calm, but Rey just feels jittery and awkward.  She almost gets up to leave when a clear, high voice pierces the quiet.

“O Lord, open thou my lips; and my mouth shall shew forth thy praise.”

It’s not musically complicated, but the intensity of Sister Constance’s voice compels Rey to listen as the entire group repeats the psalm, Father Luke’s raspy tenor blending in with the higher voices of the women.

They chant twelve passages total until Rey’s grumbling belly can barely stand it. The ritual itself is beautiful but her body, unaccustomed to waking at such an early hour after eating so much food, proves to be quite the distraction. After the last note is sung, the priest and sisters solemnly file out from the pew and fan out to various corners of the chapel. Sister Martha, sensing Rey’s awkwardness, walks over and murmurs, “Now is our time for prayer. We understand that you’re new, so please don’t feel like you need to stay here all morning. Some of us like to go to the library for prayer, or even wander the grounds in meditation.”

Rey chews her lip, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, but may I ask when breakfast is?”

Sister Martha gives her a small smile. “Seven-thirty, but there’s muffins in the cabinet next to the fridge if you’re feeling a bit hungry.”

“Thank you so much.” Rey backs out of the chapel, fumbling through the sign of the cross before closing the door behind her. She steals into the kitchen and, after procuring a very healthy looking bran muffin from the cupboard, exits out the pantry door to the back yard.

The grounds are amazing, backing onto a path that leads to the craggy summit of Ahch-To Mountain. To the left of the path lies a small forest that, according to Sister Mary, surrounds a beautiful lookout point. Rey heads over to the trees and breathes in their fresh mossy scent as she slowly traverses the root lined trail to the clearing. The sun hasn’t quite risen, and she imagines that a lookout point would be the perfect place to view the sun as it rises over the mountaintops.

Apparently someone else had that exact same idea, for when she emerges from the brush she spots a dark figure already kneeled at the edge of the cliff side, apparently deep in thought. It takes her eyes a moment to make out his features in the hazy light of dawn, but when she recognizes him, her heart skips a beat.

“K-kylo Ren?” she stutters out, then instantly regrets it.

He shakes his head and turns around, eyes locking onto hers. “...Scavenger?” he asks, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

She tries in vain to turn back into the forest, but her foot catches on a root and she stumbles. He’s on his feet in an instant, arms extended.

“Are you okay?”

Rey’s face burns. “I’m fine, thank you very much,” she spits with as much venom as she can muster. “What are you doing here?”

Backing away, he shrugs. “I’m meditating while watching the sun rise. It’s beautiful; you should try it sometime. Anyways, shouldn’t I be asking you that question? You’re not a nun, at least not yet.”

“How do you know?” she shoots back.

He quirks an eyebrow and makes a show of looking over her outfit, eyes lingering on the tattered knees of her pants. “Well, you’re not dressed like any nun I’ve ever seen. Besides that, becoming a nun is a long endeavour. I highly doubt that they’d fast track a two year process into a couple of days, no matter how special you are.”

“Fine then.” Rey folds her arms in front of her chest and leans back on an overly pokey pine tree. “I’m here because Father Luke invited me to stay for a bit and try it out. That doesn’t explain why you’re here creeping around in the forest while normal people are sleeping.”

She thinks she can see his eye twitch, but she’s not quite sure. “As I already explained to you, I’m here to watch the sun rise.” He steps forward, finger raised. “And by the way, you should watch out for _Father_ Luke and his kind invitations. Remember what I told you. They like to trap people out here. This is one step closer to them keeping you as a pet.”

She frowns. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“You don’t know how they think.”

“Oh, and you do?” She steps forward, rubbing pine needles from her sleeve as she marches towards him. “Poe Dameron told me about you. He said that you didn’t want to play by their rules, so you ran off to start a new church for yourself, and now you just whine and spout poison about your _uncle_ and the Church to anyone who will listen. Well, let me be clear to you. Your family has been nothing but kind to me, and I will not sit here while you lurk around and try to convince me to join your cult.”

The strength of her tone shocks her, and also apparently shocks Kylo. He stands there for a moment, brow furrowed, before stammering, “Well- well he couldn’t have told you everything! This church, everything they stand for, it’s dangerous! You don’t know the whole story!”

“I don’t care about the whole story!” Rey fumes. “All I care about it that someone is willing to give me a chance to try a new life. One where I don’t have to worry about what I’m going to eat or how much junk I’m going to be able to trade. And...” She raises her own finger to his face. “You _still_ haven’t explained what you’re doing here aside from _apparently_ stalking me!”

“I’m _here_ to see the fucking sun rise!” he bellows, jerking his arm toward the horizon. Rey turns just in time to see the faintest tendrils of pink crawl across the mountain tops, bathing the clearing in a warm rosy light.

It’s easily the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. The pink light shifts to a rusty amber, and the area around her is tinted a fierce orange. She glances over at Kylo, who is as transfixed as she is, his inky black hair illuminated in a wash of fiery light. As soon as it appears, the light changes again to a bright yellow as the sun peeks through the sparse trees and rises high into the sky.

Rey stares at the new morning glow until it makes her eyes sore, then turns back to look at Kylo again. He’s taken a seat behind her, eyes closed, hands resting on his knees in a traditional posture for meditation. He appears to be praying, or muttering to himself, but she can’t make out the words.

Curious, she slinks closer until she’s almost right next to him, but she still can’t understand a word he’s saying. It’s not English, that’s for sure, and unlike any language she encountered out on the streets and in the junkyard. It’s melodic, lilting, and his mouth moves around the foreign language so smoothly, she could swear it is his mother tongue. She catches hints of languages, tastes of Greek, and Russian, and what she assumes is Gaelic, peppered with something that sounds vaguely like Korean, but it’s constantly shifting and evolving.  

Heart pounding, she notices that his eyes are moving behind his translucent lids, as if he’s stuck in REM sleep while praying. She squats down in the grass across from him, hands paralyzed in front of her, unsure of what to do. Sure, he’s a jerk, but she would still feel guilty if he died from a seizure while she just stood there and gawked at him.

“Kylo?” she whispers. “Kylo, are you okay?”

Suddenly, his hand reaches out to catch her wrist and his eyes fly open, pupils blown wide. “Rey,” he breathes, and she can _swear_ that his mouth isn’t saying her name, but it’s there in her head all the same. “Rey,” he repeats, lips still tracing foreign syllables. “ _These are your first steps._ ”

She yanks her hand free and stumbles back, falling onto her backside. He looks at her, mouth agape, and for a moment they just sit there staring at each other, too shocked to say anything. Finally Rey comes to her senses and scrambles to her feet.

“I-I don’t know what that just was,” she says through gasps of air. “But don’t do it again.”

Turning to the forest, she sprints into the trees without a glance behind her. She can hear him calling out her name, his voice tinged with desperation, but it’s muffled by the branches and the beating of her heart.

It takes her only a couple of minutes to make it to the monastery. Sucking in deep breaths, she flops onto the edge of the raised beds and wipes the thin sheen of sweat that has formed on her brow.

“What the hell?” she hisses to herself as she feels a sticky substance slide across her damp forehead. Pulling back her hand, she unravels the disturbingly scarlet length of gauze and gasps when she sees her wrist.

It’s as if the last two weeks hadn’t happened. She feels no pain, but the wound on her wrist has completely reopened, enough to look like it was never closed in the first place. She puts a hand to her waist and it comes away red, and when she looks down her shoes are stained with blood as well.

She starts shaking. “No, no, no,” she mumbles, hitching herself back to her feet. It’s not a long walk, but every step to the chapel feels like a marathon as she drags her bloodstained body back through the pantry and up to the carved wooden doors. Sister Mary opens the chapel entry just as Rey approaches, and screams when she sees the younger woman.

Rey groans with relief. “Help me, please,” she whispers, and then falls to the floor in a dead faint.

 


	7. Wolf Among Us

It’s dark when she regains consciousness, and colder than normal. Shivering, Rey eases her eyes open and finds herself face to face with Dr. Watts’s bespectacled face.

“Hello again, Rey,” he says, voice calm and collected. “How are you feeling?”

“W-what?” she responds, squinting against the bright light shining directly at her. “What’s going on? Where am I?”

“You’re still here at Ahch-To.” Sister Mary’s calm face swims into view. “You fainted outside of the chapel so we called the doctor in after we brought you to a spare room.”

Rey groans. Her entire body feels like it’s been hit by a truck. “I didn’t know doctors still made house calls” she manages to grunt out.

Sister Mary smiles wryly. “They don’t. Director Organa had to pull in a couple of favours to make it happen, but Father Luke was adamant that you stay here. Even requested some special help for the next few days to make sure you’re well taken care of.”

“Finn, a friend of yours, I believe,” says Dr. Watts. “He assisted me with suturing your wounds while you were unconscious.”

She lifts a slightly shaky arm and moans with frustration when she sees the familiar thick wrappings binding her wrist. The doctor frowns.

“You were lucky, young lady. Another episode of this could have dangerously depleted your blood supply. Now, I’ve been instructed _not_ to ask how this happened, but I urge to practice more caution in your everyday activities. Your body is fragile enough as it is.”

“But I didn’t-“

Sister Mary silences her with a shake of her head. “We’ll talk about that later.”

Rey fumes wordlessly as Dr. Watts takes her temperature, checks her wrappings, and writes out several prescriptions. It isn’t until he’s out the door, after giving them a curt nod goodbye, that she explodes.

“It’s so _frustrating_ that people keep on thinking I’m doing this to myself. Why on Earth would I want to hurt myself? It makes no sense.”

Sister Mary cocks her head to the side.

Choking back a harsh laugh, Rey snaps, “Just because I’ve been living on the street for most of my life doesn’t mean I want to kill myself.”

She shuffles up to a sitting position and gingerly folds her arms across her chest while the older nun watches, an overly concerned look on her face. “The doctor said Finn was here?”

“He’s just left to go sleep.” Director Organa interjects, poking her head into the room. Rey can see Father Luke right behind her, his bright eyes hooded with concern.

 “We’ll take next watch, Sister,” he says. Sister Mary looks relieved to leave, and bows out of the room as the twins take their seats next to the bed.

“He left without saying goodbye?” Rey tries not to feel hurt, but her stomach clenches just the same.

“He didn’t know you were awake, or else I’m sure he would have come up,” Father Luke reassures her. “He’ll be back tomorrow morning to check up on you.”

“Okay,” she says sheepishly, then turns to his sister. “Director Organa, I would just like to thank you for calling in the doctor and allowing me to stay here. Both of you allowing me to stay here; I appreciate staying out of the hospital.”

“Please Rey, call me Leia.” The older woman smiles. “And you’re welcome. It’s the least we can do.”

 “Where am I exactly?” Rey looks around the room. It’s similar enough to hers that she can place herself at the monastery, but the bare walls and lack of any sort of furniture or decor other than a bed and two spartan chairs marks it as normally unoccupied.

“You’re in the west wing. Normally my wing,” Father Luke clarifies. “It would be inappropriate to have male medical staff coming and going from the Sisters’ wing, and I figured this way they would be able to sleep undisturbed.”

That mystery settled, Rey nods her head and starts fidgeting with a loose thread on her quilt.

Leia leans forward. “Now that you’re awake, we’re eager to know how this all happened.”

The younger woman’s eyes fly up to meet the Director’s gaze. She feels a twisting feeling in her gut, a mixture of apprehension and fear that prompts her to respond with, “I was walking in the forest and I tripped over a root and fell, and I guess it must have opened up all of my old wounds.”

The twins exchange a look. “Rey,” Leia cautions. “You’re not fooling us. Please, tell us the truth, and then we can see how we can help.”

“Well, I didn’t do it to myself, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Leia lets out a small breath of relief, but Father Luke looks unsurprised.

“Let’s be clear, I never thought that,” he says softly. “However, the manner which your cuts reopened, and the fact that all of them reopened at the same time indicates that something unusual happened this morning. Something powerful.”

“I...” Rey stares down at the floor. “I went to the forest this morning, after everyone finished singing in the chapel. I didn’t really know what to do, and I wanted to explore. I took a muffin,” she adds lamely, wincing at the unnecessary detail.

Leia’s brow furrows. “And?”

“And I walked through the forest to the clearing at the edge of the mountain, right as the sun was rising. I saw-“

“You saw B-Kylo Ren,” Luke interjects. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry for interrupting you Rey. Continue?”

Her mouth drops open. “No, you’re right! It was Kylo Ren, and he was just sitting there watching the sky. How did you know that?”

The siblings share another look, leading Rey to imagine that they must share some sort of telepathic bond. Leia is the one who responds. “Ben used to come here all the time in his youth, and even though he’s left the church, he still comes back. Whenever he’s in town, that is.” She smiles, a wistful look in her eyes. “He loved the sunrises here the most. He said it made him feel like God was giving him a glimpse into Heaven.”

“So everyone knows that he comes here all the time?” Rey’s stare darts between the two of them. “And everyone is okay with this after what happened?”

Leia squints at her. “How do you-?”

“Poe told me.”

“Ah. I don’t know if ‘okay with it’ is the right phrase.” Leia turns to Luke. “What would you say?”

He sighs. “I would say all of us tolerate it here, for your sake more than his.”

“He’s not all bad, you know.” She turns back to Rey. “If coming back here triggers something good in him, if it could potentially lead him back to the Church...well, I think it should be encouraged.”

“Anyways, sorry for interrupting.” Luke nods his head, obviously eager to change the topic of conversation. “So you stumbled upon him in the clearing.”

“Yeah.” Rey clears her throat and continues. “We talked for a bit. No, we argued for a bit actually. I asked him what he was doing here, and he was being cryptic and not helpful at all.”

Luke chuckles. “Sounds familiar.”

“So we finally calmed down once the sun rose. And honestly, it was so beautiful.” She pauses, remembering the vibrant colours and how they bathed the landscape in beautiful shades of pink and orange. The trees, the mountainside, even Kylo Ren’s jet black hair. “After a while, I think he started meditating or praying, but when I heard him...” She bites her lip. “It didn’t sound like he was speaking English, or really speaking any language I’ve heard before.”

It’s as if she told them the sky is blue, or sugar is sweet; that’s how much of a non-reaction Leia and Luke have. Her eyes narrow. “Is that normal?”

Father Luke opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it and closes it before Leia responds, “That’s been known to happen with Ben. He’s a very special young man,” The corners of her eyes crinkle with the hint of a smile.

“That’s one way of putting it,” her brother adds, then explains, “He’s always been really in touch with the Holy Spirit, or so he says. Sometimes He inspires Ben to do things, unusual things. Things that seem alarming or unnatural to people outside our community.”

“The Holy Spirit?” Rey wonders. “Is that like an angel or a ghost?”

“Oh not at all.” Leia looks over at Luke to explain.

 “The Holy Spirit is a member of the Blessed Trinity, along with God the Father and Christ the Son.” Luke leans forward, gesturing with his hands as he speaks. “Each member is wholly God, but also serves a separate function within the Godhead.”

“What?” Rey shakes her head.

Leia rests a hand on Luke’s knee. “Let me try. I always forget that you’re not very good with words.”

She reaches down next to the bed and retrieves a half empty glass of water. “For people not raised in the Church, the Trinity can be a really difficult concept to understand. Gosh, it’s even hard for people like us who were basically born in the Church. To me, God is like water.”

Glancing down at the glass in her hand, she swirls around the contents for emphasis. “Jesus is the living water that flows in us and through us. God the Father is like ice, solid, the foundation of our faith. The Spirit is like steam, imbuing everything he touches with truth and wisdom. All three have different properties, but they are all equally water, just as the Trinity is all equally God.”

“So you’re saying that Kylo Ren has always had a strong connection with a certain type of God? And it gives him special powers?” Raising an eyebrow, Rey takes the glass from Leia and drinks it. “Sorry, thirsty.”

Luke shrugs. “I know it sounds strange, but essentially yes. What you witnessed him doing is called glossolalia or ‘speaking in tongues.’ It’s a rare gift, especially amongst those raised in the Church.”

“ _Catholic_ church,” Leia emphasizes.

“The Church,” he repeats firmly, then continues. “I consider myself a bit sceptical about the whole thing. There are many gifts of the Spirit that are useful in ministry and modest in practice. Tongues is dramatic and showy, and seems to serve no purpose, unless there’s someone who has been gifted to translate.”

 Rey nearly drops the glass on the floor. “Translating it is a gift as well?” she asks, clenching her fingers in an attempt to tame her suddenly sweaty palms.

“They go hand in hand.” Leia smiles, taking the glass from Rey and placing it back down. “Father Luke never approved of Ben’s gift because it was always untranslatable.”

“He would just go off sometimes.” Luke waves his hand in the air. “Go off during Mass or catechism, doing his own thing, scaring the other kids, just blabbering unintelligible rubbish while everyone else stood there confused.”

“It was concerning,” his sister adds.

“Yeah.”

Rey nods in agreement, but her mind is already lost, revisiting the moment less than a day ago when she apparently deciphered Kylo Ren’s supernatural mumblings. “So what are these ‘tongues’ supposed to be then, if they are translated?” she asks. “And do you think it had something to do with why I started bleeding when he spoke?”

“Well, the bleeding is still kind of unexplainable. Barring any sort of physical altercation, there is no scientific reason why you would bleed in that context.” Leia looks over at Luke. “However-“

“Stigmata have been known to react to spiritual phenomena,” he finishes. “If, and this is a big if, Kylo Ren was having some sort of manifestation of the Holy Spirit, your markings may have reopened as a sign.”

Rey looks between the two of them again. She has the feeling she’s being left out of something big, but she doesn’t have the context to decipher what it might be. “A sign?” she prompts. “A sign of what?”

Luke strokes his beard thoughtfully as Leia shifts anxiously in her seat. “Well to answer your previous question, the gift of tongues itself can be a sign of things to come, especially when it is linked to an even rarer gift.” Despite his previous misgivings, his eyes twinkle with excitement as he barely whispers, “Prophecy.”

Rey’s heart thuds, and she rests her head against the wall as Kylo Ren’s words spin through her head.

_These are your first steps._

*

She doesn’t know whether it’s curiosity or stupidity that brings her back to the clearing a couple of days later. The vigils have been chanted and, just as the sun begins to rise, she steals through the trees searching for answers.

He’s there just as she left him, long legs folded under him as he meditates by the edge of the cliff. Dressed in his usual black, hands on his knees, he faces the sun with his head raised and eyes closed.

He doesn’t appear to be saying anything this time, but Rey’s heart still pounds when she approaches his still form. Quiet as a mouse, she sits down next to him and mimics his posture as best as she can.

“Scavenger.”

She cracks one eye open and glares at him. “My name is Rey, if you don’t mind.”

“Alright _Rey_.” His tone is soft and quiet, but she can see the hint of a smirk in the twitching corners of his mouth. Opening his eyes, he shuffles over to face her. “You came back. Why?”

“The sun rise is beautiful,” she says, deliberately avoiding his gaze. “Also, you did a very poor job of scaring me off last time.”

“I tried to scare you?” he chuckles. “You bled all over me! I thought you were dying.”

She scoffs, staring up at the rays of sun peeking over the neighbouring mountaintop. “I’m sure you did. Like you would even care.”

Shoulders slumping, he rolls his eyes. “Now I wonder where that attitude is coming from,” he replies sarcastically. “What kind of garbage has my uncle been feeding you about me?”

“He hasn’t said a word against you. However everyone else...that’s a different story. You seem to be really good at making enemies.” She scoots away from him, eyes still trained on the sky. “And burning things,” she adds under her breath. “I heard you’re really good at that too.”

“Geez,” he groans. “They just won’t let that go, will they?”

He squares his shoulders deliberately and turns back to the sun. They both sit in silence for a few awkward moments until he frowns and mutters, “You didn’t really answer my question. Why did you come back?”

“I came here to see the _fucking sunrise_ ,” she says in a very poor imitation of his low, gravelly voice.

He snorts.

She cracks open her eyes again and glances over at him. He looks so relaxed in the early morning light, so peaceful and normal, it’s almost hard for her to remember what it was like to see him _possessed_ with- with whatever it was that happened.

“Father Luke said that the Holy Spirit sometimes makes you do things,” she blurts out, unable to stop herself. “He said that sometimes supernatural things happen with you, and that’s probably why I started bleeding.”

Kylo turns to face her again, his face strangely neutral. “And did you feel anything? Anything unusual? Or did you just hear me and start bleeding uncontrollably?”

“I felt-“ She’s surprised that the hesitancy from before has yet to show up. She doesn’t think he’s a good person or a kind person by any means, but for some bizarre reason she trusts him enough to admit the truth. “I mean, I _understood._ I understood some of it. I understood you, even though I know you weren’t speaking English.”

His eye twitches but his face remains impassive. “What did you say?”

She’s unwilling to repeat herself since she’s sure her voice will start shaking. “You heard me.”

“But that’s impossible.” He jumps to his feet and starts pacing behind her, wearing a pattern into the dewy grass. “You couldn’t have understood me.”

Rey scowls. “Why not? Because I don’t have special God-powers like you? You looked at me, you said my name, and you told me ‘these are your first steps.’ What does that even mean?”

The footsteps stop, then suddenly he’s right in front of her, eyes wide. “You heard me say that to you?”

She groans. “Yes! Try it right now if you don’t believe me.”

He shakes his head, sending black waves of his hair rustling around his face. “That’s not how it works,” he says, frustrated.  

“Well, I’m sorry, this is all a little new to me.”

His breath catches in his throat. “I-I-I’m sorry too.” The words fall in a rush from his lips. “I just never expected that, well, I knew you were special because of your marks, well, your _marks_ are special. I mean-” He licks his lips nervously. “I never thought...”

It’s almost commonplace now, how Rey’s stomach twists when she’s faced with something unusual or dangerous, but this situation is different than everything that had preceded it. It’s not fear or stress that fuels the restlessness, the flight response that served her well on the street. Instead, it’s the way Kylo Ren is staring at her, like she’s the missing piece to the puzzle of his life, that makes her insides clench and her extremities twitch. 

But she doesn’t run. Not this time.

“I never thought that I would end up here one day, full of mysterious holes and speaking with a man who simultaneously terrifies me and intrigues me, but here I am.” She meets his dark brown eyes with her own. “Now what are we going to do about this situation?”

He sits there like a statue for almost a full minute. Finally, he asks, “Why are you scared of me? I don’t want to hurt you.”

She wants to believe him. “Because I’ve heard too much about you from too many people, and the consensus seems to be that you don’t value people that disagree with you. I mean, if I even mention you around Finn, he gets all twitchy.”

“Finn? The nurse?” It’s as if a switch goes off in his head, and he sits back on the grass and chuckles darkly. “Why are you wasting your time listening to him?”

“Wasting my-“ Rey jumps to her feet, wiping the grass from her clothes as she fumes. “See what I mean? You are completely inconsiderate of those who disagree with you! Finn is a wonderful man, a _kind_ man who has dedicated his life to helping others. He is so giving, and has done so much for me.”

Kylo’s eyes narrow. “Ah, I see,” he mutters, almost too low for her to hear.  

“You see what?”

He rises from the ground, managing to appear flawless while Rey continues to pick bits of clover off of her pants. “Finn tells you that I’m the Devil incarnate, and you believe him blindly. Because _Finn_ is a good guy who would never hurt anyone, while I’m the one who destroyed his life and the life of my mother and uncle at the same time. Oh, and Poe Dameron’s life too, while we’re at it.”

“That’s not it at all!” Rey marches up to him, craning her neck to glare him in the face. “I’m not following him blindly. It’s just hard to have a different opinion of you when all of the good people in my life seem to hate you.”

“Maybe you should try to get to know me first before jumping to conclusions?” he counters. “I could tell you my side of the story, show you what my church is like. Help you develop a balanced opinion.”

She stares at him incredulously. “No!” Stepping even closer until her nose is almost at his jugular, she yells, “I honestly don’t even have time for this! I only have a couple of months to get my life together; I don’t have time to visit your cult church and figure stuff out when I can barely figure out what’s going on in the church I might actually join.”

“But you understood me, Rey.” He hisses her name, and she can feel his breath brush up against her forehead. “It’s a gift, and _they_ won’t understand it like I do.”

 “Maybe that’s for the best, then.” Dropping her stare, she moves to back away. “I was never meant to have special powers or anything. I’m just Rey, a nobody from the streets who happened to get some weird injuries. I’m not a superhero, and I’m definitely not a prophet.”

As she turns, she feels his hand rest on her shoulder. It’s gentle, barely brushing her sweatered skin, but she shrugs him off anyways. “Please don’t go,” he pleads, and it’s the tender Kylo, the one who was so in awe of her earlier, that meets her eyes with his.

It’s tempting, but she remembers Father Luke’s words from his homily two days earlier.

  _“Matthew 7:15 tells us this: ‘_ _Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.’”_

 “I have to.”

 She’s struck with a strong sense of déjà vu as she jogs back up to the trees, Kylo’s voice calling out her name in progressively agonized tones. A very small part of her feels broken, missing the opportunity to spend time with someone who obviously at least finds her fascinating enough to yell after. However, she notices that, no matter how hard he yells her name as she retreats to the forest, he still isn’t willing to follow.

 


	8. Aspirancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who has commented, kudo-ed, or even just read this fic! Every time I get a notification, it brightens my day :)

For Poe Dameron, driving the winding gravel road to Ahch-To monastery has always been a bit like attending the Stations of the Cross. The journey progresses from his initial exit off of the main city freeway, to traversing the rolling green countryside, travelling the desolate and barren rocky path, to finally arriving at the looming ancient monastery surrounded by a lush forest. Each transition marks a different stage in the journey that he has historically marked by different stages of prayer, for Poe loves praying in his car.

At least he _used_ to pray in his car. Lately, he’s had a very special passenger during his trips to the monastery, a passenger that makes praying difficult for many different reasons.

“So I’ve been telling her not to worry about it; that if Father Luke had a problem with it, he would just tell her. That seems right, right? He seems like a pretty upfront guy.”

Poe sighs. “Yes, if Father Luke had a problem with either of us being there, we would most likely tell us. Probably wouldn’t tell Rey, but he would let us know.”

Finn turns to the driver, a wide grin on his face. “Awesome. Yeah, she’s been really worried that everyone there secretly hates her because she’s trouble. But she’s not though.”

“Maybe not from our perspective, but think about the nuns. They dedicated their lives and like at Ahch-To to have a simple existence.” Poe shrugs. “If nothing else, Rey complicates things.”

“It’s not her fault though.”

“I know it’s not.” Shaking his head, he glances over at Finn. “It’s all right, man. Rey’s a strong girl, she can fight her own battles. I’m sure if anyone has a problem with her, she can take care of it herself.”

Finn opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, thinking for a moment. “I know she’s strong. She’s seen things and been through stuff that I can’t even imagine. But she shouldn’t have to deal with any more of it, especially if there’s something I can do about it.”

Poe’s heart pounds in his throat when he sees the intensity of Finn’s face. He knows with absolute certainty that the young man means every word that he says, and it’s so pure and beautiful and admirable that he can’t help but feel _jealous._ Just a little.

It’s not that Poe has had a rough life. Sure, his early years were a bit awkward, but as soon as he cleared puberty and grew into his face, he’d had his share of admirers. Parishioners used to comment on how much he resembled his mother Shara, who had died when Poe was only eight. She had been admired both for her beauty and her dedication to the church, and even from a young age he had tried to emulate her as much as possible.

Before he’d gone back to school, he’d been involved with a fellow member of his church. She’d been wonderful and kind and everything a good young Catholic man would want in a potential spouse.  But Poe has never been the typical good Catholic man, so once he moved on to get his Master’s degree, he’d moved on from her as well.

He’d gone on to specialize in treating PTSD and anxiety disorders and realised, with the help of no small amount of therapy for himself, that part of his problem with commitment stemmed from the restrictions he felt from the Church. The pressures to settle down, find a good ‘help-mate,’ and have loads of kids weighed on him like a backpack full of rocks. It had always felt alien and not for him.

But now, as he simultaneously watches the twisting gravel road and the expressive corners of Finn’s full lips, he feels it. Feels the pull to _domesticity_ of all things, on this path with this man in the passenger seat of his car. Finn’s face sparkles with barely repressed passion and kindness when he talks about almost anything; his favourite sports team, the merits of Coke versus Pepsi, and especially the plight of poor innocent Rey.

“So, what is it with you and her?” Poe blurts out, too far into his own head to make conversation like a normal human being. “Are you guys together or something?”

Finn recoils out of shock and quickly backtracks. “N-no, of course not. That would be really inappropriate and unprofessional”

“Oh, of course.” Chuckling to himself, Poe eases the jeep into the familiar parking spot in front of the monastery gates. He pulls the emergency brake, then turns to Finn. “Look, I’m not going to run off and tell on you if you have a little thing for her. She’s a sweet girl, I understand, and we’ve all become friends through this. I just want to make sure that you’re going to be able to perform objectively and make the right decisions for _her_.”

Finn purses his lips and nods. “I understand. No hard feelings. I’m just her friend and her nurse, I swear, and you can rely on me to act properly.”

Poe nods too, and only a very small part of him feels guilty for trying to scare the crush right out of Finn.

Sister Mary greets them halfway up the stone steps, her weathered and freckled face grim. “It’s been a bit of a rough day for our patient,” she explains. “Sister Grace asked if Rey would bless her and Rey...well, it’s a bit of an overwhelming request for someone who is still so new to the faith.”

“If she’s even a part of it at all,” Finn mutters. The nun frowns on him, and he adds, “Not that it’s any of my business.”

“Well, that’s just wonderful.” Poe runs his fingers through his slightly greying hair. “We’re trying to make her feel safe here, and foster some trust. She’s said before that she’s scared of becoming some sort of weird religious relic. This incident isn’t going to help things on that front, I can tell you that.”

The short trek to the monastery is awkwardly silent. Poe is very conscious of the daggers Finn is glaring at Sister Mary, who is at the front of the pack and is therefore blissfully unaware. “Hey,” he hisses to the younger man, after falling back a few paces. “Take it easy on them, okay?”

“Why?” Finn counters. “They act like she’s already committed to becoming a nun when she obviously hasn’t. I knew all of this it was too good to be true.”

“Hey, hey,” Poe mutters. “Sure, no one is committed to anything yet, but Rey is a big girl and is capable of making her own decisions. Don’t presume that, if she chooses to stay, she’s being coerced or anything.”

“Yeah sure.”

The two men meet Rey out the in the garden. She’s traded her normally comfortable clothing for a simple beige robe that makes Finn bristle at the sight of it.

“Hey guys!” she says, grinning from ear to ear. “Look at what I’ve been doing!”

She holds up a handful of carrots still covered in rich brown soil. They dangle, crisp and orange, from their fluffy green tops she clutches in her fist.

Poe smiles back. “Wow, that’s awesome!”

“Yeah, it’s been really great!” She drops the carrots into the basket by her side that is already overflowing with produce. “They grow so many things here. Sister Constance was saying that there are fruits and vegetables to harvest every week, and at the end of the summer they do a whole weekend of canning.”

Finn walks up behind them. “A whole weekend, hey? That’s cool.”

“Yeah.” Looking between the two of them, she nods and says, “But I guess you’re not here to discuss making preserves and harvesting. Would you guys like to come in for my check up?”

“If you don’t mind.” Finn jogs forward to open the door for Poe and Rey, who takes a moment to brush the dirt off of her robe before entering. Together the trio trek through the library and into the west wing of the monastery, where Rey is still staying temporarily as her wounds heal.

“I feel like things have been healing better this time,” she notes as Finn carefully removes the soiled gauze from her feet. “Everything looks cleaner than before too, if that’s possible.”

“That’s great to hear,” Poe comments from the ancient wooden chair that he’d dragged into the room. “Do you have any concerns about your wounds at this time?”

“Not really.” She purses her lips as Finn dabs antiseptic ointment in her arches. “Things have gotten a bit...stranger with some of the people here though.”

She feels Finn bristle at her feet, but Poe looks unfazed. “Stranger? How so?”

“Well, I think some of the nuns have taken my wounds as a sign that I’m meant to be here. That the spiritual energy here is somehow ‘activating’ my gifts or whatnot.” She sighs. “To be honest it’s very confusing. I don’t even have a clue about what’s going on most of the time, but people are still asking me to bless things, and telling me when I should become a nun.”

“I knew it,” Finn hisses under his breath.

Poe ignores him. “And how does it make you feel when they mention you becoming a nun? Are you scared? Anxious?”

She shrugs. “Not really. Annoyed mostly. I was told I didn’t have to make a decision yet, but apparently I already have, sort of? By checking this place out, I’ve already taken the first step to nun-hood.”

“And this wasn’t a step you intended to take?”

“No? Yes?” Wincing, she tries to scratch at her left wrist, the one that Finn is cleaning, with her right hand, but he bats it away and continues his work. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, necessarily, to live here. All things considered, it’s the best arrangement I could even think of. But-“

She winces again, more out of confusion than pain or itchiness. Poe silently looks down at his mini notepad and waits for her to resume her thoughts.

Finn ends up being the one to break the silence. “Are you not sure whether you believe in God or not? Is that the problem?”

“Oh, I believe in God for sure. I always have.” She glances up at Poe sheepishly. “I’m just not sure whether I believe or agree with everything the Church teaches. I mean, I still don’t know much of what the Church teaches, and I feel so guilty about it.”

“Well, your feelings are valid. After all, there’s nothing more Catholic than guilt.” He chews on his pen for a moment as he watches Finn fasten the last clip on her wrist wrappings, his nimble fingers pinching the shiny metal with ease. “Just keep in mind that you’ve been through a lot, and take it easy on yourself. You’re hardly going to go from being a non-believing street person to the Pope overnight.”

Rey shrugs, mouth turned to a frown. “But I think that’s what people expect,” she whispers, gesturing to her stigmata.

“People are dumb,” Finn says bluntly. “Make sure you take care of yourself, don’t be intentionally rude to others, and don’t piss off God, and you should be fine.”

She shakes her head and looks out the window, a mournful look on her face. “I wish it was that easy.”

*

It’s almost eight at night when Finn and Poe leave. She watches them pile into the powder blue jeep, both smiling and laughing and promising to be back soon, but the sight of them going fills her with such a lump in her throat that she has to look away. As soon as she’s sure they’re done ambling down the road out of sight, she grabs a cardigan and steals away through the garden to the forest.

The mid-summer sun is still shining in the sky by the time she reaches the clearing. It shouldn’t surprise her to see that it’s empty of anyone else, but the part of her that craves a good conflict or _something_ feels a pang of disappointment.

Still, she sits down on the grass and contorts her body into a pose of meditation, hands palm up on her knees. The wind blows through her hair, sending wisps whipping across her face as she gazes up at the neighbouring mountaintops.

“H-hello God.”

She’s shocked by the sound of her own voice in the quiet clearing. It still seems wrong to pray, really more like talking to oneself, but the solitude and the cool evening give her a confidence to try it out. After all, the worst possible scenario is one where she really is just speaking to the air and, considering the last couple of weeks she’s had, that doesn’t seem all that bad.

So she continues. “Um, it’s me, Rey. But I guess you know that already.” She bites her lip. “Wow, um, sorry if this is super awkward. I’ve never done it before. But I guess you know that too.”

Laughing, she raises a hand to brush the hair out of her eyes. “I never realized how hard it is to start a one-sided conversation with someone who knows everything. I’ve never even thought about praying or anything until recently. It’s really kind of weird. I mean, sorry, I guess it’s not weird if you hear it all the time.”

“I guess what I’m meaning to say is...thank you? If you’re up there, or around here, I mean. I know I’ve been kind of down today, but I honestly don’t have much to complain about with my life right now. Thank you for Finn, and for Poe. Thank you for Father Luke and Sister Mary, and all of the other sisters. Thank you for Leia. Thank you for everything they have all done for me. Thank you for this monastery and mountaintop and the beautiful garden. I had never imagined that there was this much beauty in the world until I got here.”

She pauses, staring up at the slowly darkening sky. “I promise I’ll make it up to you,” she whispers. “I promise that I’ll use my time wisely to fix things and help people. I promise that I’ll at least try to be kind to everyone. Even Kylo Ren,” she adds as an afterthought.

“I just-“ Her voice catches for a moment. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Everyone keeps on telling me that I’ve been blessed and that I’ve been given such a great gift, but I just feel the same. Just Rey from the junkyard, with a couple of extra holes and scratches. I don’t know if I’m supposed to stay here or go home. I’ve never felt this wanted before...but I also feel so scared.”

She pulls the cardigan tight around her shoulders to fend off the cooling air. The sky is turning an amazing inky blue, and she can even spot a couple of stars peeking through the darkness high above her head.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a failure so far. But please, if you’re out there...please tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

“Rey.”

For one crazy moment she believes that it’s actually Him, _God_ , finally throwing her a bone and responding to her desperate pleas, but then she quickly comes to her senses and realises that she’s heard that voice several times before. Gripping her cardigan, she whirls around to face Kylo Ren as he emerges almost soundlessly from the trees behind her.

“I would ask what you’re doing here, but I think we’ve established the futility of that question,” she muses, her brows knitted together in a frown.

He almost smiles at her comment as he walks over to a stump a couple paces to her left and takes a seat. “I fully admit to stalking you this time.”

“I figured as much. No sunrise to gawk at now.” Turning her back to the stump, she adds, “Just came here to throw a fit and judge my taste in friends, I suppose.”

She glances over her shoulder to eye him warily, but he doesn’t respond with a snarky or biting comment.  Instead he shrugs and says, “I admit that my outburst last week was uncalled for. Just because I have had negative interactions with the people you call ‘friends’ doesn’t mean I should disparage you for liking the only human beings who have been nice to you your entire life.”

Back still to him, she grits her teeth and mutters “Thank you.”

“However that doesn’t mean I condone any of their actions. They may appear to be altruistic, but trust me when I...” He pauses, shakes his head, and takes a couple of deep breaths before continuing. “I apologize. It’s hard for me to not react.”

Rey closes her eyes and tries to stay calm, even though her brain is screaming at her to _run away_ , like she’s done the two previous times they’ve met in this clearing. “So what brings you here, aside from stalking me?”

“Nothing else brings me here. I came to see you,” he says plainly. “I don’t think we ended off our last conversation very well.”

She snorts. “No, I don’t think so either, though perhaps the whole friend-mocking thing I mentioned before had something to do with it.”

“Could you just-“ He stops to calm himself again.

Even with her back turned, Rey can sense how tense he is, but she can’t find the grace in her heart to let things go just yet. “No, I can’t just leave it. Finn and Poe are my friends, and it bothers me that you keep on putting them down.”

“Okay, then I’ll stop.”

She looks over her shoulder again and meets his eyes. They’re dark and determined, and _seem_ sincere enough for her to take the leap and respond. “Fine.”

“Good.”

Letting out a large sigh, she turns around and walks over to the stump. She still doesn’t face him when she plants herself down on the mossy hillside, instead choosing to stare determinedly up at the slowly emerging stars.

He breaks the silence. “So as I was saying, I would like to continue our discussion from before about your apparent spiritual gifts.” His voice is calm, but she can detect a quiver of excitement in its careful modulations.

“Alright then. Discuss away.”

“Okay.” He pauses to collect his thoughts, then continues. “I want to offer myself as a resource for you. I’ve researched and dealt with many different signs and wonders of the Spirit over the last ten years or so, and I figured it would be a good idea to teach you what I’ve learned. That way you can make your own decisions about what all of this means to you, and how you want to deal with it.”

Rey nods her head. “I see. So, you’re telling me that you, Kylo Ren, probably barely thirty years old, would be a better spiritual teacher than Father Luke Skywalker, an actual priest and monk?”

“Well, I’ll avoid disparaging his character, _as I promised_ ,” he grits out, “and instead let you know that, while I am not as old as Father Luke, I am an ordained minister, and have been for over five years. I lead a congregation of three thousand people over four campuses. I’ve authored two books on embracing spiritual gifts and, I’m not sure if this matters but, I’ve also been on _Oprah_.”

“Huh.” She keeps her face trained on the stars to avoid letting him see the very tiniest smidge of her impressed expression. “Well, if _Oprah_ likes you, I suppose you can’t be that bad,” she deadpans.

He laughs, and it’s lighter than she expected, more like the chuckle of a friend than the cackle of a known arsonist and enemy. Throwing caution to the wind, she turns her body slightly until she’s facing him and asks, “Before we get started, _if_ we even do start, I do need to know why you seem so interested in me.”

“You’re an interesting person with an interesting circumstance.” He shrugs. “Do I need any other reason?”

“I suppose not. But you have to understand that I’m still worried. After all, you were the one who warned me that some people may try to manipulate me because of my gifts.” Gritting her teeth, she brings her legs up to get chest and adds, “They brought it up today, by the way. The nuns. They basically cornered me and asked me what my intentions are with the monastery. After only a week and a half!”

He tries not to glower, but can’t help the little bit that escapes. “Typical.”

She lets out a bark of laughter. “I suppose. Apparently being a vulnerable young woman full of holes makes me an obvious candidate for nun-hood, which makes me an open target for conscription.” She pauses. “How am I supposed to know that you aren’t going to do the same?”

She grits her teeth as a gust of night air blows past them. Noticing her discomfort, Kylo pulls off his black blazer and drapes it over her shoulders before she can protest. The jacket is warm and smells of musty old wood and cologne, and Rey can’t help but feel simultaneously repulsed and intrigued by his willingness to sacrifice his own comfort for hers.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to trust me,” he murmurs, straightening up on his stump after clothing her. “And to make that a little easier, I have a proposal for you. If and when we ever start meeting, if you ever feel uncomfortable or under too much pressure, you only need to tell me to leave and I’ll be gone forever.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that, I promise.” He stares at her, his dark brown eyes barely visible in the deepening twilight. “I’m not a bad man, Rey. I won’t force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

She thinks back to the _incident_ , as she’s started calling it in her head, where he’d gone into a trance and triggered some sort of supernatural gift within her. He didn’t ask for permission to do whatever he had done then, but it didn’t seem like it was something he could really control. Either way, she still got hurt, both mentally and obviously quite physically. It seems unavoidable.

“I guess it’s true what Father Luke says.” She shrugs at him, her golden brown eyes hidden under her lowered eyelids. “We’re all just sinners struggling against our fallen natures. You can promise not to hurt me, but who knows what will happen? As humans, we can’t help ourselves.”

“I guess that’s another way that he and I differ,” Kylo says. His hand twitches, and he balls it into a fist. “I don’t automatically set myself up for failure when I start something. When I promise not to hurt you, I mean it.”

He’s so earnest that it makes her stomach clench. They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, brown eyes locked together, and then simultaneously turn away to stare at the immense array of stars scattered across the heavens. Each pinpoint seems to shine brighter than its neighbour, basking both of them in a faint twinkling glow.

Rey’s a lot warmer now and, even though she can barely see a couple of feet in front of her, she feels a calmness here in the dark. She hugs her knees to her chest under Kylo’s oversized jacket and imagines a life among the stars, free of the confusion and turmoil that seems to constantly plague her here on Earth.

Peace has never come easily to her, especially not during her tenure on the street, but here, sitting in a field of grass and moss next to a man she recently considered her enemy, Rey finally understands the feeling. There’s no pull for her to leave, no anxiety about where she should be or what she should be doing. Deep down in her soul, she knows that _this is it_ ; for this moment her spot in the universe is this clearing at night, with this person, and her only responsibility is to watch the stars and relax.

“Thank you,” she mumbles to the night air. Kylo, sensing that she’s not talking to him, chooses not to respond.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed, whether it’s been minutes or hours, when Kylo says, “Hey, we should get you back,” in a soft voice. The clearing is significantly darker, so much so that she can’t make out his face, or the stump, or anything more than the stars she has been focusing on. Her body is so calm and relaxed that she’s about to protest like a child, but when she opens her mouth all that escapes is a massive yawn.

He chuckles, and it’s that same warm sound from before. “Are you going to be able to make it?” he teases gently.

Groaning, she brushes his helpful hand from her shoulder. “Don’t even. Of _course_ I can.”

Mercifully, he doesn’t comment when she stumbles on the annoying roots at the edge of the forest and has to clutch at his elbow to stay upright, and he even stays silent when he has to loop a long arm around her waist to coax her through the final few steps to the garden.

“This is where I have to leave you,” he says, voice low to avoid detection. 

“Why?” Rey mumbles, her body heavy with sleep.

Kylo surveys the monastery. All of the building’s lights are off, save for the one illuminating the exterior chapel door.  “Because I’m supposed to be on my best behaviour, and I can’t guarantee that if I run into some of the inhabitants here.”

It’s the truth, and it absolutely liberating for him to admit that, yes, sometimes he has a hard time holding his tongue, especially if he’s been sitting on a stump for over an hour.

“I’m pretty sure everyone is asleep,” she responds as she struggles to keep her eyes open.

He shakes his head. “Rey...”

“Okay, I get it.” Using as much strength as her fatigue-addled body can muster, she pulls him down to sit next to her on the edge of one of the raised garden beds. It’s the one with the peas, and she can’t help but laugh when she sees the green pods brush up against his wavy black hair.

His arm is still wrapped around her waist, a fact that makes Kylo’s heart pound, but she doesn’t seem to notice and makes no move to shrug him away.

“So,” she says as she cranes her neck to meet his gaze. “I just want to be clear about where we stand so that you don’t have to worry about stalking me tomorrow.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” he responds seriously, eyes glittering in the darkness.

“I would like to formally accept your offer to teach me what you know about gifts and spirits and all of this religious stuff, as long as your offer includes the part about me dismissing you whenever I want.”

“Of course.”

“Fine then.” She extends her hand and he shakes it awkwardly since she’s still practically glued to his side. “Just so we’re clear though, this doesn’t mean I’m not also learning more about life here at the monastery. I need to weigh my options equally.”

Kylo chokes down his reflexive retort and instead offers a gentle nod. “I understand.”

“Really?” Rey’s eyes go wide. “To be honest, that wasn’t the response I was expecting. Not that I need your permission of course, but,”  She’s interrupted by another yawn, so long and loud that her jaw pops.

“Alright, time for me to go.” He awkwardly pats his thighs with his hands and is about to rise until he frowns, remembering something. Reaching into the back pocket of his pants, he pulls out a ballpoint pen. “I’ll give you my number. Uh, do you have any paper handy?”

She raises an eyebrow, face getting progressively blearier by the second, and extends her arm from out of his jacket. He freezes, hands suddenly sweaty. “So I should just-?”

She nods, so he gingerly reaches for her outstretched arm. It looks so small in his large hands as he pulls up her cardigan sleeve to reveal a smooth stretch of forearm below her wrist wrapping. Fingers twitching, he manages to click the pen open and scrawl his phone number on her skin like the world’s absolute worst tattoo. The pen apparently tickles, because she giggles as he writes, forcing him to cradle her arm in his palm to keep it steady.

Finally he finishes the last shaky digit. “So that’s my number,” he says. “You can call any time to let me know when you are free to learn, or if you need anything.”

“Or if I need anything,” she repeats. Tilting her head to the left, she adds, “You know, sometimes I forget that you’re a cold-blooded sociopath.”

He tilts his head in the opposite direction. “Sometimes I forget you’re an uncultured junk rat.”

She freezes, and for a second he thinks he’s gone too far, but then she snorts just a bit too loudly and sighs. “Right. Good night, Kylo.”

Swaying slightly, she ambles to her feet and heads towards the chapel door. Kylo stands and hisses after her, “Hey Rey?”

She turns, her face adorably groggy, hand on the door handle. “What is it?”

“Please, call me Ben.”

 


	9. First Lesson

It’s the first thing she sees when she wakes up next morning; his number, scrawled across her arm in smeared blue ballpoint pen. She groans, from fatigue mostly, but also with the knowledge that she may have done something incredibly stupid last night. Agreed to something incredibly stupid. Some would even say she made a deal with the Devil, cliché as it sounds.

She takes in a deep breath and is assaulted by the scent of musty wood, cologne, and pine sap, which brings her awareness to the fact that she fell asleep wrapped in Kylo Ren- in _Ben’s_ wool suit jacket. As if the phone number wasn’t enough evidence that she was totally out of her mind last night.

There’s a knock at the door, and she almost falls out of the bed in her haste to stuff the jacket somewhere, anywhere, out of sight. She settles on cramming it underneath her pillow, praying to God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit that the wool won’t wrinkle easily.

“ _Rey_?”

It’s Sister Mary on the other side of the door. The older nun’s foray to the men’s side of the monastery indicates that Rey is most likely late for something. She stares at the stone ceiling for a second to let her brain calibrate, and then realises, _“Oh gosh, vigils. I need to be up for morning vigils.”_

“I’m coming,” she calls back.

“ _Oh don’t rush, we’re actually already finished_.” The older woman pauses. “ _May I come in_?”

Rey falls back onto her lumpy pillow, scrubbing her face with her hands. “Yes, I guess.”

The door creaks open and Sister Mary enters, already bright and perky despite whatever early hour it is. She walks over to the bed and eases herself down at the foot of it, smoothing her robes around her. “It’s okay, Rey,” she says soothingly. “We understand you’ve been through a lot lately. We don’t expect you to make it up every morning.” She pauses. “Especially when you were up until almost three AM last night.”

“Three?” Rey groans, and resumes her attack on her face. “I’m so sorry, did I wake you up?”

Sister Mary shakes her head. “I only barely heard the door close. What were you doing up so late?”

Closing her eyes, Rey takes a moment to try and formulate a perfectly plausible excuse. After a few seconds she comes up with, “I was praying.”

It’s not a lie. She _was_ praying, albeit briefly, so it’s not only plausible but also the truth. She glances up at Sister Mary to see whether her story passes.

“Praying?” The nun nods. “That’s very admirable of you. Were you alone at the lookout point again?”

Rey notices the slight emphasis on the word _alone._ “Yeah. It’s nice and quiet up there at night time, and you can see so many stars.”

“It makes it easy to pray, that’s for sure. That sublime feeling of humility when faced with the vast expanse of God’s creation. It’s astonishing.”

“Mmmhhmm.”

Sister Mary cocks her head to the side, her brow knit with concern. “Rey, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

The younger woman turns her head to stare out the window. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I’m sorry the other sisters thought it was okay to pressure you. It’s not. You’re here as our guest, and only as our guest, unless _you_ choose to change the nature of this relationship.”

Rey looks over at the older nun. Sister Mary’s eyes are weathered but kind, her normally stern face softened with sympathy. “Sister Constance said that God brought me here for a reason; that it’s my fate to stay here and be some sort of holy blessing to the community. She said my bleeding was a sign.”

“Of course God brought you here for a reason, but as mere humans we may not know what that reason is.” Shaking her head, Sister Mary reaches over and gently squeezes Rey’s shoulder. “And your bleeding _was_ a sign, but it seems as though we aren’t quite meant to know what it was a sign of yet.”

Rey peeks down at her partially obscured arm, hidden by a blanket, with Ben’s number scrawled on the underside. Sister Mary may not know what the bleeding meant but, judging by the churning in her stomach, Rey has a hunch that God may be pushing her towards some less than savoury company.

“Jeremiah 29:11 says this: ‘ _For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord. ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future_.’ He has a plan for you, Rey. You just have to pray that one day He will reveal his plans to you.”

Sister Mary gives her shoulder one more squeeze, then stands up from the bed. “Father Luke and Director Organa are down the hall having breakfast. I believe they have some things they wish to talk about with you.”

Rey remains alone in bed for a few additional moments, her brain still reeling from everything that happened the previous night coupled with Sister Mary’s strangely sincere apology. It’s been hard to come to grasp with, this strange sense of obligation that she’s felt since she’s arrived here at Ahch-To. Whether she commits to life as a Bride of Christ or not, she knows she can never go back to her old life. Not anymore. Not when there’s a life beyond everything she knew previously.

Wrapping herself in a heavy sweater, she tentatively tiptoes down to the dining hall. Father Luke and his sister are just finishing up the standard breakfast of bran muffins with orange slices and herbal tea. They look up in unison when she enters the room, both of their faces breaking into uncannily similar smiles.

“Rey!” Leia calls out in her gravelly voice. “Thank you so much for joining us.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Rey smiles and sits down next to the older woman.

Leia pours another mug of steaming tea and passes it to her, along with a muffin. “Luke and I were just talking about you, weren’t we Luke?”

The priest looks down at his plate of orange peels, face suddenly sheepish. “Talking, yes.”

Leia tisks at her brother’s suddenly deferential demeanour. “Don’t be like that.” She turns to Rey. “Luke doesn’t think you’re ready to leave the compound yet, but I think he’s being too cautious. I mean, look at you! You’re basically fully recovered!”

Rey nods in agreement despite the fact that her bandaged feet are still a bit sore from her trek down the hall. “I would say I’m on the tail end of mending, yes. Finn will be checking up on me in a couple of days, but last visit he said I was making very good progress. No sign of infection or anything.”

“Well of course there wouldn’t be.” Leia leans over like she’s about to share a secret. “It’s not like these are normal wounds.”

Even after all of these mysterious circumstances, Rey’s still not used to people openly talking about the mystical nature of her stigmata. “Uh, no, of course not,” she stutters. “I’m sure that God makes sure they stay all nice and clean.”

Leia chuckles. “You’ve got quite the sense of humor, my dear. Wouldn’t you say so, Luke?”

He grunts in reply, folding his arms across his chest. She frowns.

“Don’t be so grumpy, seriously. She’s got to go out into public eventually. Why not have her come to a service with us?”

Rey cocks her head, her face wrinkling with worry. “A service? At the basilica?”

Luke shakes his head. “It’s not a good idea, Leia.”

“Oh, and why not? All of these people have been praying for her for weeks. They care about her wellbeing and would be encouraged to see her in a service. Don’t you want them to be encouraged?”

He groans. “Don’t try and trap me. I know there’s no right answer to that question.”

“It’s okay,” Rey pipes up, nervously tearing little chunks off of her muffin. “I’ll go. It’s no big deal. In fact, it’ll be nice to get out.” She smiles weakly and pops a piece into her mouth.

Leia grins smugly at her brother. “It would be our pleasure to have you.”

“Will Poe be there?” Rey asks hopefully.

“Poe and Finn,” Leia replies, eyes twinkling. “Your friend has been attending lately to see how it is, and we haven’t scared him off yet.”

“Oh.” That’s a bit more of a draw, at least as far as Rey’s concerned. Seeing her two good friends out of the confines of the monastery, even if she’s in a church, will be a wonderful experience. “Okay, sure. Unless...” She looks over at Luke “Do you really not want me to go?”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to go to church. No, far from that.” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I just want to make sure you don’t have a bad experience. Our parishioners are-are intense, I suppose is the right word, and I don’t quite know if you’re ready to meet them yet.”

Leia snorts. “Don’t let him scare you. Luke is going through a cautious phase right now when it comes to interacting with people outside of this monastery. I’m sure you’ll be fine, especially if Poe and Finn are there.”

“If you say so.” Rey’s eyes dart from Leia’s enthusiastic smile to Luke’s cautious wince. “I mean, I can always come back if it gets too overwhelming. But really,” she says, and tries her best to smile at both of them, “They’re a bunch of church goers, not muggers or meth heads. What’s the worst that could happen?”

*

“Doing some light reading?”

Hux chuckles at his own horrendously awful joke as he slithers into Ben’s office, Millicent hot on his heels. Ben looks up from his hardbound copy of N.T.Wright’s _New Testament for Everyone_ and frowns.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be in today. Phasma said you were speaking at some youth retreat.”

“I’m finished with that already.” Hux peruses the mesh metal folder screwed to Ben’s office door for any interesting mail. A couple envelopes catch his eye, so he gingerly uses his index and middle fingers to retrieve them and immediately starts sifting through their contents.

 Rolling his eyes, Ben ignores his co-worker’s obvious invasion of his privacy. Hux is a nosy prick on the best of days. Opening is mail is probably the least odious thing the redhead has done all week.

“You were at the Ahch-To monastery again yesterday, weren’t you?” Hux asks nonchalantly, quirking an eyebrow over the stack of mail. “You’ve been spending a lot of time there.”

Ben glares at him. “What if I am? It’s not a crime.”

“I didn’t say it was.” Hux tosses the pile of envelopes back into Ben’s inbox and turns to stalk over to a bookshelf of encyclopaedias. Leaning against the wall, he pretends to examine his fingernails as he mentions, “I just remember that a certain young girl was surrendered to the custody of Luke Skywalker, who happens to live at that monastery. A certain notable homeless young girl with interesting wounds.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“What’s none of my business? The reason why you are making unexplained visits to your uncle’s residence? The same uncle who tried to brainwash you and then kicked you out of the Catholic Church. The one you called a ‘waste of skin’?”

Ben stays silent.

“Don’t you think you’re acting a bit childish, ‘ _Ren?’”_  Hux mockingly mimes the air quotes with his fingers. The action makes Ben want to strangle him. “Can’t seem to stay away when your uncle decides to bring another impressionable youth under his wing? Can’t you let the old man have his fun?”

Gritting his teeth, Ben slams the commentary down on the desk with a loud ‘ _BANG!’_ “I can’t, and you know it, Hux! I know it sounds insane, but I just can’t let them brainwash anyone else, especially not this girl. She’s...” His voice trails off, and he drops his gaze back down to his desk, suddenly flustered.

“’ _Special?’”_ Hux accents his mocking with the ever offensive inclusion of over emphasized finger quotes. “Come on, Ren. Isn’t screwing a nun a bit too cliché, even for you?”

“I’m not screwing her, and she’s not a nun. Yet,” Ben adds. “She’s a sweet girl who’s been through a lot.”

“A _sweet girl?_ What the hell? You sound like you’re talking about a baby, or your favourite dog. Sorry, Millie,” Hux apologizes to the omnipresent orange cat, who has taken up residence on Ben’s favourite leather wingback chair and is currently sleeping in an afternoon sunbeam. “I’ve never heard you talk about a girl like this before.”

“Well, probably because I haven’t made a practice of it,” Ben mutters. “Some of us spend most of our time talking about ideas instead of people.” He knows his ears are burning, hidden beneath his thick hair, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

He resumes his studying, making little pencilled annotations in the margins when he comes across something new or noteworthy. Many of his critics claim that is work isn’t Biblical, that he just writes whatever he wants, but that’s just fundamentalist conjecture. Ben writes from his heart, sure, writes what he wants to hear (of course) and gives his own version of the truth, but all of his writing ultimately flows from the Word. He likens it to the concept of Platonic Forms; the Bible is the ultimate form, while is writing is just a mere shadow. A very high-selling popular shadow, but a shadow nonetheless.

“Ren?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “What, Hux?”

“You can’t deny that you’ve thought about it, right? Every guy would debauch a nun, if given the opportunity,” Hux states matter-of-factly.

“I can’t believe you’re still thinking about that. She’s a teenager, and she’s not even a nun.”

Still, Hux’s question swims through his head when he tries to focus back on Bishop Wright’s teachings. _You can’t deny that you’ve thought about it, right?_  The words of the commentary blur together as he struggles to keep a hold of his concentration, until knowledge of the truth drops in his belly like a stone.

He is attracted to her.

In fact, he _likes_ her in that vapid, insipid way that he’s tried to avoid for the past ten years.

She’s pretty. He would be stupid to deny it, so he doesn’t, at least not to himself. She’s taller than the average woman, but still almost a head shorter than him. Has waves of brunette hair with warm sparkling brown eyes. Petite but muscular. Long lashed and pink lipped. Tanned but freckled.  Feisty and passionate.

_Young, but not too young_.

Ben groans, rubbing at his eyes with his palms.

“What’s wrong, Ren?” Hux asks from his armchair perch next to Millicent. “Getting a little...distracted?”

“Fuck you.”

“Ooooo,” Hux titters, his nasally timbre grating on Ben’s ears. “Someone’s a bit frustrated. Don’t unhinge on us yet, it’s only Saturday.”

Ben’s about to snark back when they’re interrupted by his phone buzzing at the corner of his desk. Hux jumps up from the chair to creep at the caller ID.

“Luke Skywalker? Why on Earth-“

With faster than expected reflexes, Ben snatches the phone out from under Hux’s nose. “Get out,” he barks.

The other man stares at him, confused. After only a second of serious thinking, recognition dawns on his face. “Of course, the monastery!”

“Get out,” Ben repeats, gritting his teeth as the phone continues vibrating in his hand.

Hux smirks, stepping back onto the armchair. “Come on, you know I have to be here for this...”

Ben sees red, and not just the scarlet of Hux’s hair. “Get OUT!” he roars, snapping his pencil clean in half. Both Hux and Millicent leap up from the chair and dart out of the office, Hux slamming the door behind him.

Ben turns to the phone. His fingers are suddenly sweaty as he tries to swipe and answer the call. “Come on, come ON,” he mutters, until he finally drags the _stupid_ green arrow across the screen and unlocks the call. “Hello?” he pants. “Rey?”

There’s a pause on the other end. “ _Yeah. How did you know it was me?”_

“My uncle hasn’t called me in over ten years from this number, so I was pretty sure it was a safe bet.”

“ _Oh._ _Of course, that makes sense. For a second I thought you had done some sort of Holy Spirit mind reading thing._ ”

He laughs softly. “Again, that’s not really how it works. I’ve never read anyone’s mind, at least that I know of.”

“ _Oh good.”_ There’s another pause. He can hear the bustling of the monastery’s kitchen in the background, adjacent to the overly public phone nook they’re so fond of. He remembers calling his mother on that phone, trying to hold in his sobs of homesickness until he returned to his room. It never worked, of course, and the other kids at camp always loved having yet another one of his flaws to taunt him with.

 “ _Sorry about last night,_ ” Rey says meekly. Her accented voice tickles his ear with its softness, sending a shiver of something akin to pleasure down Ben’s spine.

He clears his throat. “Sorry? Why are you sorry? You did nothing wrong.”

“ _I was overtired and awkward and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I do that sometimes, especially when I’m sleep deprived.”_

“It was nothing, not awkward at all. You were just being honest.”

_“I’d understand if you didn’t want to teach me anymore. I know you’re probably really busy with your own church and your books and...and you seem like you have quite a full life. I’d hate to be a bother.”_

He shakes his head. “Everything is fine. I know that you were tired last night, but to be honest I appreciated it. Appreciated your candor.”

It’s silent on the other end, save for Sister Mary’s barking alto voice in the background yelling something about tomatoes. He clears his throat. “Rey, I’m not going anywhere.”

That probably came out a lot more menacing than he intended, but it seems to do the trick.

“ _Oh.”_ Her voice is so soft, he can barely make it out.

“I’m committed to educating you about faith and the Spirit, and anything else you would like to learn about.” He thinks about Father Luke, how he’s probably making Rey pray the rosary and chant ancient songs that no one cares about any more. “I want to make sure you have a balanced perspective,” he adds. “So that you’re aware of all of your options.”

“ _All of my options?”_ There’s a slight quiver of nervousness in her voice. _“What do you consider as my options?”_

 “There’s three straightforward ones,” he states. “You could finish your tenure in the mountains then go back to living on the streets, or you could transition to getting your own place. The obvious one is for you to commit to the monastery and to Father Luke. Become a nun, and live out the rest of your days in service to God.” He doesn’t even attempt to hide his derision.

_“So, what are the negatives to that, in your opinion? Because obviously you don’t care for that one.”_

“Well, it’s a big commitment.” He looks up at the heavy wooden cross made of reclaimed wood that hangs over his office door. “You’ll have security, company, and a warm bed every night. Food to eat.”

_“Good food.”_

He chuckles. “Come back to me after five years of summer camp there, and tell me what you think of the food then. Anyway, to me the lack of freedom and options are really a big negative. You’re tied to the same church, the same beliefs, for the rest of your life. You’ll be sleeping in the same bed and eating the same food, praying the same prayers at the same time. And, being a bride of Christ cuts you off from any other relationships. Romantic ones,” he adds, cheeks burning.

_“Poe told me that was a big deal breaker for you.”_

“Oh, did he?” He tries to keep the anger and humiliation from his voice, but he doesn’t quite succeed. “How generous of him.”

_“Don’t be mad, Ben.”_

Another definite shiver of pleasure runs down his back when he hears her say his name. “I’m not mad.”

Then she lets out a small giggle, and he can swear his brain just explodes. “ _Of course not. Anyways, if you’re not too annoyed or embarrassed to be with me, I’d like to set a time to meet with you. If that’s okay, of course. Just checking out my options.”_

Her tone screams confidence and nonchalance, but Ben can sense an underlying current of insecurity and fear. They are the vestiges of a girl who was left alone as a child, probably abandoned by her parents and forced to make it on her own. She’s sure of herself, of course, but when it comes to extending that confidence to other people, her faith falters. 

Ben sits up straighter in his desk.  “That sounds wonderful. I can meet you tonight, if that works? In the clearing, around nightfall.”

_“Yeah, sure.”_ There’s another pause. _“Thanks. I guess I’ll see you tonight then.”_

She hangs up before he has a chance to say goodbye.

For a moment he sits there, phone to his ear, shame burning a hole deep in his soul. A voice that sounds suspiciously like his mentor Reverend Snoke whispers, “ _Don’t be ashamed. Your desire for the girl is natural and beautiful and part of His holy plan for you. Don’t be scared to accept what he is providing. Take it. It is your gift.”_

The other voice, the one that is unmistakeably his mother’s, chastises him for even thinking about Rey like that, heaping on the guilt until he feels like he’s going to sink right into the floor. _“This isn’t how I raised you, Ben. A godly man desires only his wife, and God has destined you for an even greater calling: a life wholly dedicated to knowing and living for Him. Don’t fall prey to the sins of the flesh. You were made for so much more.”_

He feels the beginnings of a headache starting to form at his temples. Slamming his phone a bit too firmly on his desk, he shakes his head and focuses back on reading his commentary.

He’s completely finished disseminating the books of Luke and John before he comes to the realisation that he has absolutely no idea what he and Rey are going to talk about tonight. He’s put so much emphasis on ‘teaching’ her, but the logistics of said teaching are murky at best.  Theology and doctrine are his uncle’s forte; the old man has probably never even considered practical application aside from five AM drone sessions and night time meditations.

Like most things in his life, Ben finally settles on just ‘winging it,’ ‘playing by ear,’ or any other colloquialism for acting without any plan whatsoever. Glancing up at the clock, he’s shocked to see that he only has an hour until his proposed meeting time with Rey. He slams the book closed, shaking the desk with his force, and grabs his grey wool jacket from the hat rack by the door. His face splits into a grin when he remembers what happened to its black predecessor.

She’s already waiting for him when he arrives at the clearing. It’s not too cold, but the brisk night air has prompted her to swath herself in a lumpy beige sweater that almost camouflages her against the stump she’s perched on.

 He pushes free of the last sap-sticky pine branch and paces over to her, brushing bits of dead tree from his arms.

“Hey. I apologize if I’ve kept you waiting.”

She looks up at him, and his heart starts to thud painfully. It’s amazing how beautiful she looks in the dimming light, her eyes almost luminous and her skin littered with freckles. He didn’t think it would feel so different, seeing her after he’s come to his little ‘realisation’, but the stab of pure unadulterated longing he feels is undeniable. He used to want to educate her, protect her, study her, watch her.

Now he just wants _her._

 “It’s not a problem. I came early, actually. I had to...” Her voice trails off, thought abandoned. Her light brown eyes lock with his, and she pulls her sweater tighter across her shoulders as a breeze blows through the clearing. “So, what’s the plan?”

He sits down next to her, legs sprawled in front of him. “I was thinking we could just talk a bit, and pray.”

Bristling, she stares down at the grass. “I’m not really comfortable with praying in front of people. Or praying in general, actually.”

Ben takes in a deep gulp of air before he replies. It floods his senses with the scent of crisp trees and a faraway campfire or two, and steadies his still pounding heart. “I understand that praying is supposed to be a very private, but if you want to learn and grow in the faith, you’re going to need to give it all up and trust me.”

“Father Luke doesn’t make me pray in front of him,” Rey responds, a hint of petulance in her voice.

“Don’t even start with Father Luke. He’s not making you do anything, yet. He’s afraid of pushing you away and losing you.” Ben grimaces. “But are you truly satisfied with chanting vigils and eating bran muffins every morning?”

Her eyes widen. “How did you know about the muffins?”

“You forget that I’ve lived that life. I’ve slept in those beds and I’ve eaten those muffins. I know what it’s all about.”

“The muffins aren’t that bad.” 

“The muffins aren’t that bad,” he concedes. “But the routine, the monotony. You must have noticed by now how it grates on you.”

Rey scrunches up her face in frustration. “That’s why I left tonight. Father Luke called us for Vespers, and it’s not like I hate Vespers, but they happen at the same time every night. _Every_ night.” She shrugs. “And a part of me likes it. My life before was always so unpredictable.”

“It’s hard to go from one extreme to the next.”

She nods vigorously, shaking a couple of strands of hair free from her bun. They drift around her face in the wind, and Ben has to resist a very tempting urge to catch one between his fingers.

“So I guess I’m struggling, as Father Luke like to call it. I love being here and living the life of a nun. It’s so simple and safe and uncomplicated. But another part of me craves complications and the strange and unknown.”

Ben raises his eyebrows. “And what could be more strange and unknown than me?”

“Exactly,” she deadpans. She clutches her sweater even tighter, as if she’s trying to draw into herself, protect herself from the outside world. “Hey Ben?”

He smiles at the sound of his name. “Yes?”

“Could you go first? If you don’t mind, of course.” She looks away, embarrassed. “I still don’t really know how to do it. It would help if you taught me.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Do you have any requests?”

“Yeah.” She bites her lip. “Director Organa came by this morning. She asked me if I would be willing to go to with her to church tomorrow and meet some of the parishioners who have been praying for me.”

Ben frowns. “And what did you say?”

“I said yes.”

“You said-“ He bites his tongue. “Never mind, that’s none of my business.” He smiles gently, or as gently as he can manage while resisting his natural urge to fume, then looks up to face the sky. It’s just starting to darken, the moon slowly making its presence known over a neighbouring mountaintop. He nods and closes his eyes as he folds his legs underneath himself and rests his open hands on his knees.

“Gracious Heavenly Father,” he intones, voice low and smooth. “Thank you for bringing us here today. Thank you for blessing us with the beauty of nature and this amazing spot where we can marvel at the wonder of your creation.”

He briefly peeks at Rey and sees that she’s semi-adopted his meditative stance, choosing to rest her hands palm-down on her knees. The longing sincerity evident on her face makes his heart clench.

“Father, thank you for Rey.” He sees the briefest of smiles on her lips when he mentions her name, then her brow furrows in concentration, seriousness regained. “Thank you for gifting her with such astonishing wounds, marks of Your glory Lord. Thank you for watching over her through any hardship she has had to endure. You have blessed her with such a spirit of perseverance and passion, Father. Please guide her heart and her hands, so that she may use your gifts to bless those around her.”

He squishes his eyes shut, blocking out her distracting face. “Father, please be with her as she attends the basilica tomorrow. Its new territory with lots of people, and anything could happen. Please make your presence known and guide her heart and tongue in a way that is pleasing to you.”

He pauses. The clearing is almost silent, save for the rustling trees and Rey’s deep breaths next to him.

Then she reaches out and grasps his open palm in her own, and everything changes.

It’s as if he’s finally seeing colours after living in greyscale, finally hearing music after a lifetime of silence. He opens his eyes and all he can see is her, radiant and beautiful, waves of trust and affection rolling off of her in almost perceptible shockwaves of emotion. Gone is the self consciousness and nervousness he usually feels when he’s gifted with a mysterious testimony, when he feels like he’s about to spill over like a carsick five year old kid. Instead, when he locks eyes with Rey, he feels only conviction and an indisputable feeling of righteousness.

“ _All flesh is like grass_ ,” he says, and it’s not his voice he hears but Rey’s, speaking in unison with his almost guttural syllables as the wind roars around them. “ _All_ _its beauty_ _is like the flower of the field._ _The grass withers, the flower fades_ _when the breath of the LORD blows on it.”_

Her pupils are so blown, her normally light brown eyes appear black, but he’s barely aware as he stares at her with his own dilated eyes. Despite his bravado, he’s never felt like this before; so invincible and complete and confident, both in himself and his faith.

They continue the scripture, voices intertwined. “ _Surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.”_

He feels like the Earth is falling away, every tree and mountain in the distance bowing to the immense power of their Creator, leaving only him and Rey seated in a patch of rapidly browning vegetation. He watches the grass fall and die, watches his breath freeze and snow fall, watches it all thaw and melt and be reborn again all while clutching the hand of the woman next to him, locked together as the world turns around them.

Emboldened by the thumping of his heart and the fire he feels in his chest, he reaches out his free hand and touches a wilted blossom. Instantly it spring back to life with a rush of colour and fresh scent. He looks up at Rey’s glowing face, her awestruck expression mirroring his own.

_“The Word of our God will stand Forever,”_ she breathes, and then it’s over as soon as it started. She shakes her head, face confused as she’s suddenly thrust back into the real world, the roaring wind replaced by a cold breeze rustling the leaves around her as she tries to catch her breath. The grass is just as uneven and green as it was before the vision or prophecy, or whatever it was, and the trees are all firmly standing and intact.

“Don’t worry, I felt it too,” Ben pants. He looks as winded as she feels, his chest heaving with every panting breath he takes. He squeezes her hand, still clasped in his and resting on his knee and looks down at her bandaged wrist. “Are you...?”

“Oh, right.” She pulls her hand from his and inspects the bandage for any sign of blood. Finding nothing, she folds her hands together on her lap.

Ben winces slightly, but says nothing.

Shell-shocked, they both look up at the emerging stars as they try to calm their shaking breaths and jittery bodies. 

“Did you plan that?” Rey asks, her eyes flicking over to meet his briefly.

He shakes his head. “No. Those things are never planned. They happen when He wants them to, in His time.”

“How is this even possible?” she breathes. “How is any of this possible?”

“With God, all things are possible,” he responds, then adds, “It’s in the Bible. Matthew 19:26.”

Despite everything that just happened, and the absolute awestruck terror of their situation, Rey throws her head back and lets out a full belly laugh, chuckling until her sides ache from the effort.

Ben stares at her like she’s gone insane. “Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m not alright!” she gasps out. “I’m out here at night with you, _again,_ and I’ve just had the second strangest experience I’ve ever had in my life. No wait,” she says, and takes a moment to re-evaluate her previous statement. “It was definitely the strangest experience of my life. I had forgotten the part where all of the trees just fell off the side of the mountain.”

“So it was the same for you?” Ben can barely believe what he’s hearing.

“Yes! The power, the life, the death...it was astonishing! Absolutely mind boggling. And, despite all of this absolute madness, you can still take the time to condescendingly quote a Bible verse to me like I’m a child.”

She sounds frustrated, but she’s smiling at him, and continues to smile even after her laughter has died away. Tentatively, he gestures around the wholly intact mountainside and asks, “So, despite us hallucinating the destruction of the entire world and nearly going insane, was this a good first lesson?”

Her grin goes even wider, and she reaches out to impulsively squeeze his hand again. The action stirs up butterflies in his stomach. “The best. I can’t wait until the second one.”

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY SOME SEMBLANCE OF ROMANTIC CONTENT! Please don't hate me for the absolute slow-burnyness of this fic. I swear, the wait will be long, but the payoff will be sweet :)
> 
> Thank you for all of your kudos, comments, and views! They make my day.


	10. Immaculata

“You look ridiculous.”

Rey gapes at Ben, who is half-grimacing, half smirking at her outfit. Sure, it’s not the most fashionable choice, but when Sister Mary had asked her whether she wanted to try on a novitiate’s robes, she had agreed. They’re loose and flowing and that kind of too crisp white that comes from a lifetime of being washed in bleach, and Rey absolutely adores them.

“Robes are very comfortable,” she says matter-of-factly. “They are one size fits all, and loose enough to let me eat a big lunch.”

“You look like an angel from a kid’s Christmas pageant,” he says. “And not in a good way.”

Most of her enjoyment of the habit comes from Ben’s absolute distain of it. She’s amused that a simple garment can be that much of an annoyance to him, but there’s a lot of history there that she knows she will never understand.

Pushing her luck just a little bit more, she kneels down next to his black garbed figure. “Please teach me,” she pleads, doe eyed and earnest. “I am ready to learn, Father Ben.”

His eyes flash. “Don’t push your luck,” he spits.

She recoils quickly, falling back onto the grass in a mess of flailed limbs and white fabric. In a second, he regains his composure and rushes down next to her. “Rey, are you okay? I-“

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she mutters as she brushes dead plant matter from her legs and sleeves. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have joked about that.”

“No, I shouldn’t have-“ Ben bites his lip nervously before responding, “It’s okay, I forgive you.”

It’s been like that for the past couple of weeks of their little ‘lessons.’ Laughter, deadpan jokes, and a generous helping of misunderstanding have all featured heavily in each session, and they have managed to work through every incident with seemingly no lasting damage. Rey’s learned a lot about Ben; his little quirks and preferences, and she’s quick to notice the little facets of his behaviour that remind her a lot of Leia Organa.

There hasn’t been another ‘incident’ since the first lesson, and for that Rey is thankful. She loves learning about faith and the supernatural, but truly experiencing it face on has been a bit more challenging for her nerves. Instead they’ve mostly studied the scriptures together; Ben has shared how he researches and formulates his sermons, and has told her the history of the church, each different branch and what they all mean.

Today he’s promised to teach her about the Azuza Street Revival, and what it meant for the Christians at the time. She sits on the grass next to him, robes fanned around her, and listens as he talks about William J Seymour, the political climate of 1906, and the outcry from the other churches against the signs and miracles performed. He uses his hands when he speaks, gesturing to indicate the time periods and actions, and his face even scrunches up into a grimace when he describes the other Christians’ anger.

“But why would they have a problem with it?” she interrupts. “Why would the other churches care as long as people are getting saved? Isn’t that the goal?”

“Because people fear what they don’t understand, and instead of trying to understand they just reject it. The old ways, the traditional ways, they’re just built on excluding everything that doesn’t fit into their little bubble of ‘acceptability.’” Ben frowns. “Like Father Luke and his parish. Have you managed to go yet?”

“No,” Rey says sheepishly. “Things keep on coming up.”

“Things?” he presses. “What kind of things?”

She purses her lips. “I want to go when Finn and Poe are going to be there. Finn’s been working for the past two weeks, so he hasn’t had a chance.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m not happy you haven’t visited that writhing pit of vipers yet, but I do think it’s important to at least see whose bed you’re sleeping in and whose muffins you’re eating.” 

“So now they’re vipers?” Rey cocks an eyebrow and frowns. “What happened to trying to understand things instead of rejecting them?”

“Oh, I understand them. Too well. I was one of them once, so you can’t accuse me of being ignorant.”

“That sounds like a poor excuse if I’ve ever heard one,” she gently teases. 

He tries to glower at her and fails. “Do as I say, not as I do,” he says. “If you’re planning on educating yourself on both sides, it would be best for you to go to the basilica as soon as you can. The sooner you go, the sooner you can decide that it’s not for you.”

He’s so sure of his opinion that she’ll eventually choose to leave the monastery, but Rey herself isn’t even close to a decision. Father Luke and the nuns have been amazing hosts, integrating her perfectly into their day-to-day life, tactfully instructing her on the ins and outs of monastery life, even sharing stories and laughs with her.

Just this morning, Father Luke had taught her an old hymn called “Be Thou My Vision” that was so astonishingly beautiful it had brought tears to her eyes. The old priest wasn’t much of a singer, to be honest, but his reedy voice and simple piano playing had been so earnest and pure, she couldn’t help but feel it reverberate in her chest and well up in her heart.

“ _Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;_  
_Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art._  
_Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,  
__Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light._

All good and perfect things are from the Lord,” Luke had intoned, his voice soft. “He is the light that guides us through every storm, who illuminates our path and shows us the way. If you dedicate yourself to Him, you will never have to live in darkness, not matter where you are.”

Rey looks up at Ben, who is swathed in his characteristic head to toe black clothing. Sometimes she notices that he branches out to a dark slate grey but most days, regardless of the weather, he shows up to their meetings in black jeans, t-shirt, and a black sweater or blazer. At first she thought he was some sort of emo or goth kid who had a hard time letting go of his teenaged fashion choices, but now that she’s gotten to know him a bit better, she thinks she has a good grip on why he wears the black.

“You reject the notion of purity,” she notes.

His eyes perk up, instantly interested. “Explain.”

“Most Christians are obsessed with the idea of being pure. There’s many passages in the Bible that talk about Christ washing away our sins until we’re white as snow, or purifying us, and so on.” She gestures to her robe. “So many Christians use that as a motif, that Christ will show us the light and make us pure. And you reject that.”

He tilts his head from side to side and shrugs. “Yes and no. You’re very close. I don’t disagree with the scriptures, despite what my detractors might have you believe. I just don’t believe that we have to reject who God made us to be in order to gain purity, especially at this stage in life.”

Rey frowns. “Explain.”

“I just think that some more traditional Christians are too extreme. They give up everything to somehow grow closer to God, even the very things that make us human. Like here, for example.” He gestures to the forest, indicating the monastery. “God gave us wonderful food to enjoy, but the sisters subsist almost wholly on fruits and vegetables and bran to avoid gluttony. God gave us eyes to see, and yet you’re forbidden to hang up art or pictures that aren’t of Jesus, lest your eyes wander. God made us capable of loving each other so deeply, and yet there are segregated living quarters and no relationship allowed, and this is supposed to bring everyone closer to God.”

“You seem a bit hung up on that one,” she comments sweetly.

“I am _not,_ ” Ben says between gritted teeth as a blush creeps up his cheeks. “I just think that it’s foolish to reject what makes us human in a misguided attempt to gain Earthly purity. It’s all a farce and an oversimplification of what truly is good and evil.”He lets out a huge sigh and self consciously rubs at his face. “Well at that I’m afraid I have to call it a night. We’ll continue later, I promise.”

Rey frowns, and then nods her head as she remembers. “Oh right, it’s Saturday tomorrow.” She draws the flopping white arms of the robe around herself. “Will you be preaching?”

He smiles. “Always. Will you be attending the basilica finally?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’ll call Poe when I get back. Meet here tomorrow so I can tell you all about it?”

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it and nods his head. “Of course. Goodnight, Rey.”

“Goodnight, Ben.” She gives him a little wave as he ducks into the trees, then turns back to the darkening sky, her eyes quickly getting lost in the inky blackness.

*

“Who’s ready to PARTY?!”

Rey frowns and crosses her arms, staring at Poe who is mugging up against his car window. “Seriously? We’re going to church.”

Finn rolls down the backseat window and pokes his head out. “Please excuse Poe. He’s running on very little sleep, and just excited that he’s going to have a new friend to talk to on the way to the basilica.”

She rolls her eyes and walks over to the passenger seat, letting herself in. “Thanks for the ride, by the way.”

“Oh don’t worry, honey, it was on our way.” Poe looks over at her and grins. “Nice outfit.”

Rey looks down at her black and white striped sundress, a gift from Leia and Luke. “Thanks. The director wanted me to wear something nice, and I didn’t really own anything nice, so she got this for me.”

“Well, it looks really good on you,” Finn comments gently.

“Whoa! Slow down, tiger!” Poe bellows as he starts the car. “Let the lady catch her breath first.”

They all laugh, and fall into companionable chatter as Poe drives down the gravel road. It’s a beautiful day, as most days are on the mountain, crisp and cool but still bright and sunny, the green of the vegetation almost blindingly vibrant. Rey gazes out the window and stares up at the clear blue sky, as Poe and Finn bicker about favourite TV shows in the background.

“It’s so beautiful,” she mumbles to herself, resting her head against the window.

She dozes for a moment, letting the morning sun wash over her face as she drifts in and out of consciousness, only to jerk awake when Finn calls out, “Hey, Rey!”

“Hmmm?” she murmurs, rubbing at her eyes.

“Sorry to wake you up. I just wanted to reassure you that this church we’re going to is actually pretty cool.”

“Oh yeah?” She chuckles. “What makes it so cool?”

“Well, it’s in a beautiful building first off. It’s all old with stained glass and gold and stuff, so even if the speaker is boring, you at least have something nice to look at.”

“Excellent,” Poe pipes in. “I’ll tell Father Luke and Father Aquinos you said that.”

“You do and you die, Dameron.” Finn mock glares up at the driver. “Father Aquinos is pretty awesome and chill like Father Luke. Everyone is really super chill there actually and they all act like normal people at a normal church.” He frowns again, this time for real. “Unlike that flying circus that Kylo Ren runs.”

Rey’s ears perk up at the mention of Ben’s other name. “Really? You went to his church? Why?”

Finn shrugs. “He asked me, that’s why.”

“No way!” Poe grins as he guides the car down the winding road. “Kylo Ren asked you out to church? How romantic!.”

“Shut up Poe,” Finn responds automatically, as if he’s said it a hundred times. The other man laughs. “As I was saying, Kylo Ren and his First Order cronies came to my college when I was doing my make up courses, before I got into my first year of nursing. They had this booth thing set up advertising some sort of motivational talk their church was sponsoring, and I signed up to see it because why not?”

“Well, I ended up going with a couple of buddies of mine, and it was actually really good? Kylo Ren spoke for most of it, and it was crazy because he actually seemed like a really cool guy at first. He spoke about how hard it is to find yourself when you’re young, and what he went through growing up with successful parents, and how to be confident and deal with rules and authority, and they gave out a couple of copies of his book.” He shrugs. “My friend read it and like fell in love with the guy. I still think he’s going to First Order.”

“So what was it like when you went?” Rey asks, her eyes wide and curious.

Poe winks. “You didn’t do any falling in love of your own?”

“No, it was seriously weird, okay? Like, I was walking in expecting a nice little church, maybe some organ music, but it was like BAM!” He flings his hands in front of his face, his eyes wide. “A massive arena with thousands of people. So I was all, ‘Okay, so it’s more of a rock concert Jesus Freak sort of thing. I get it.’ I took my seat and sang along when they played the music. It was mostly Hillsong, with some vintage Vineyard thrown in.”

Poe nods his head, impressed. “Nice.”

Finn laughs, “Don’t be so surprised. Just because I’m not a ‘believer’ doesn’t mean I don’t do my research. I like to educate myself before I try new things. Anyways, the music went on for about a half an hour or so, and I could tell that it was sort of building up to something. During the last song, out comes our boy Kylo Ren with that pointy looking ginger fellow he sometimes hangs around with. Ginger starts talking, some standard ‘Open your heart to God, he will set you free” basic mumbo-jumbo, and then Ren came up to the mic.” He pauses for effect. “A hush fell over the crowd. The entire arena went so silent you could hear a pin drop, and they were all staring at this guy, just waiting.”

Rey looks over her shoulder at Finn, who has gone silent himself, hands still hovering in midair for emphasis. “And then?” she pleads. “What happened next?”

He closes his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts, then opens them slowly and says, “Then Kylo Ren started speaking, and it was the scariest shit I have ever heard in my entire like. The words- they weren’t English, they barely even sounded human. It seriously didn’t sound like any language I’ve ever heard before. And then- _and then_ everyone else in the arena started as well, speaking and shrieking and some of them were jumping up and down and on the ground and-“ Finn lets out a huge sigh. “I felt like I was actually going insane.”

“What else happened?” Rey asks, her eyes locked on his. “Was there something else?”

Finn nods. “Yeah. As all of this was going on, the ginger was pulling kids up to the stage. Like _young_ kids, maybe seven or eight years old. He brought them up to Ren, who put a hand on their shoulder and prayed, I think, but it was the same weird language, and then some of the kids just flipped out. One was on the ground like it was having a seizure, and another one starting wailing and they were waving their arms in the air, and it just wasn’t _right_. That was the moment I got up out of my seat to leave, and as I did Ren opened his eyes and stared at me straight across the arena. Like, I don’t even know how he knew I was leaving, he just _did._ And he stared as I walked out the door. ”

Poe whistles. “Shit. Yeah, I heard that tongues stuff once, and I was like ‘nuh-uh, goodbye, that’s not for me.’” He glances over at Rey. “That’s what they call all of that babbling, ‘speaking in to-‘”

“I know what they call it,” Rey blurts out. “I’ve heard it before. Sort of.”

Finn cocks his head, eyes narrowing. “You’ve heard it where? At the monastery? I didn’t think Father Luke went for that sort of stuff.”

“He doesn’t.” She gulps. “B-Kylo Ren showed up at the clearing by the monastery one time. It’s a sort of look out point, the clearing is I mean, it’s a very nice view. Anyways, I ran into him there, and he ended up doing it. Speaking in tongues,” she clarifies.

The car stutters for a brief moment as Poe shakes his head wildly. “Wait, what? Rey, is that guy stalking you again?”

She gapes at him. “Well-“

The cabin explodes in a thunder of noise as both men start yelling at the same time. Finn’s flailing his arms in the back seat and Poe’s keeping only one hand on the wheel as he wags his finger in her direction.

“I _knew_ that creep would try something!”

“What an animal!”

“I swear Rey, if that waste of space even _looks_ at you the wrong way, I swear to God!”

“You don’t even worry about it; just say the word and Poe and I will rip his guts out!”

“Guys, GUYS!” Rey holds up her hands in a sign of surrender. “It’s okay. He’s not stalking me. He just came to watch the sunrise!”

There’s a pause, and then both men let out loud, exaggerated groans.

“Come ON, Rey!”

“Yeah, no guy likes sunrises that much,” Poe says sagely from the driver’s seat. “Trust me.”

Rey frowns, uncomfortable with their insinuation. “It’s a very nice sunrise,” she mutters, slouching down in the passenger seat. “If you saw it, you would understand.”

“I’m sure we would” Finn pipes up amiably. He’s sensitive to Rey’s discomfort, but also a little confused at the extent of it. “Sorry, Rey. We were just teasing,” he adds, and is rewarded by her giving him a small, over the shoulder smile.

The basilica is an old, ornate building that radiates grandeur from a distance. Rey presses her face against the car window as they pull into the parking lot, her eyes flicking from the gilded window frames to the intricate stained glass windows that decorate the sides, all the way up to the massive copper dome topped by a golden cross.

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathes. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. I can’t believe it’s been here all this time.”

“Yeah, you said that you mostly stayed downtown before?” Finn asks as Poe guides the car into a stall. “This would have been pretty out of your way.”

The trio climb out of the vehicle and head inside, integrating themselves with the milling Sunday crowd. The parishioners give her no notice, treating just like any other church goer, though some do give a quick nod of acknowledgement to Poe and Finn. Poe leads them to a pew that’s close to the back and Rey slides in, her fingers trailing against the smooth wood.

The front of the basilica is even more gorgeous than its exterior, trimmed with exquisite carvings and paintings, and crowned with an astonishingly tall set of brass pipes that stretch from the tiny organ up to the tip of the peaked ceiling. There’s an old lady seated at the foot of it, playing an old sounding hymn that filters through the crowd like a lullaby.

The crowd goes quiet as Father Luke walks onto the stage, accompanied by another equally elderly man. They’re both dressed in jet black gowns, a far cry from the muddy robes she normally sees him in, and they have the strange white collar at their necks. The other man, “Father Aquinos” Poe hisses, walks up to the microphone and greets them with a deep voice.

“Grace and Peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.”

“Amen,” the crowd echoes, rumbling around them like a tidal wave.

“I would like to stare our service this morning by welcoming a special guest.”

Rey feels her heart sink into her stomach. Finn’s hand is instantly on hers, giving it a calming squeeze.

“Now we all remember that service many weeks ago when our friends Father Luke and Director Leia Organa shared the story of a young lady named Rey. Rey with the mysterious stigmata decorating her wrists, side, and feet, just as our Lord was marked. Well, I’m happy to announce that, not only did she make a full recovery, but she is here with us today.”

He extends an arm in her direction and all heads turn, wanting to see the fascinating girl who had been a fixture in so many of their prayers. She looks up at Father Luke, and the older man shakes his head, his blue eyes sad and downcast.

There’s a murmur in the crowd for the rest of the service. Even the homily is punctuated by the shuffling noises of someone turning back to look at her, or a child crawling up to whisper in their parent’s ear. Rey grips Finn’s hand like a lifeline, face staring straight ahead, unwilling to look at any of the gawping parishioners and, as soon as the service is over, she jumps to her feet, eyes already searching for the exit.

It’s no use. First a gaggle of older ladies that she recognizes from the hospital rush over to her, crowding out Poe and Finn. “It’s so good to see you up and about, my dear,” one says, her voice reeking of cigarettes and Thrills gum.

Another woman clambers up towards her. “You blessed my unborn child and now he’s perfect, so beautiful. Thank you so much.”

Rey frowns, “But I don’t remember-“

Then there’s a man who claims he prayed for her arrival, prayed for a sign for their parish. Another teenage girl claims to have seen her in a dream the day before her father woke from a coma. A married couple forces their way through, begging her to lay a hand on the woman’s barren womb. It’s all too much, too many people too many voice, and she’s about to yell for Finn when she feels it.

That dreadful, familiar stickiness in her shoes, at her side, trailing down against her fingers.

“No, not here,” she breathes, desperately trying to hide the rivulets of blood, but she’s only in a sundress and it’s already too late.

The crowd gasps as one, and a lone voice cries out, “A sign from God!”

“No.” Rey searches through the crowd and finally spies Father Luke, grouped with Poe and Finn at the edge of the parish. Her eyes widen as she watches them fight to get to her, elbowing their way through the frenzied crowd.

“Father!”

“Abba!”

“Thank you Father!”

“Immaculata!”

“God is with us!”

It’s like bedlam, like nothing she had ever imagined outside of a movie or TV show. Every congregant is rushing up to her trying to touch her arm or her dress, some even struggling to swipe a finger against the blood welling up at her side. They’re wide eyed, not unlike Ben’s eyes when he goes into a trance, and that’s when she realises it, feels it deep in her soul: It’s all the same.

“REY!”

Then all of a sudden Finn is there, his strong arms wrapping around her and pulling her towards the door. She relaxes, lets her head loll onto his shoulder as he pulls her into the backseat of the car. Poe is in the front already, with Father Luke in the passenger side.

“We’re leaving,” the older man commands. “Now.”

Father Aquinos is stationed at the doors of the church, calming the crowd with his waving hands, but Rey can still see them, can still imagine their desperate faces and clawing arms even as Poe pulls them out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

Finn looks down at her. “You okay?” he asks, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow.

Rey frowns. “I am now, but if you don’t mind, I’m gonna-“

Her eyes roll back into her head, and she slides into another dead faint.

*

“All things considered, this wasn’t that bad.”

It’s Finn who wakes her this time, his smiling face swimming into focus when she wakes up. He guides her gently upright and hands her a glass of water as Poe and Luke look on, their faces etched with worry.  She downs the glass instantly, her throat so parched it feels like she’s been sleeping in the desert.

“Not bad?” she croaks out. “How so?”

“It may have looked super scary, but you actually suffered very little blood loss. Only a couple of tablespoons, really.”

Rey leans back against the pile of pillows propping her up. “Just a scratch this time, hey?”

Finn laughs nervously. “Yeah, seems that way, peanut.”

She smiles at the term of endearment.

Father Luke scoots his chair closer, his bright eyes almost frantic with barely repressed panic. “Rey, I’ve called the basilica already. Father Aquinos says he has no idea what happened. People just started losing it, but luckily he’s managed to calm them down now.”

Poe snorts. “Yeah, and it’s only taken him hours. Geez.”

“I think I know what happened,” she mumbles. The three men turn to look at her.  “I think it was the Holy Spirit. The same sort of thing happened when I saw Ben speaking in tongues.”

Finn frowns. “Who’s _Ben_?”

“Kylo Ren,” Poe interjects, bending down to face Rey. “So you think all of these people were possessed by the Spirit, and that’s why they acted like that?” He lets out a chuckle. “Man, won’t they be pissed to hear that!”

Rey smiles as the men discuss the absolute absurdity of Mildred O’Connell finding out she had been possessed by the ‘Holy Ghost.’ Poe lets out a particularly accurate old lady squawk that sends them all into peals of laughter. The sight of it makes her heart swell with warmth.

She’s encouraged by the absence of the doctor this time, a sign that, while inconvenient, her spontaneous bloodletting isn’t going to make her a walking medical emergency for the rest of her life.  Sure the fainting will take some getting used to but she’s sure that with a solid plan and a suit made entirely of pillows, she’ll be able to walk around in public with no fear whatsoever.

She pulls back the rough cotton curtain at her bedside window, and gasps when she sees the darkening sky. “What time is it?” she asks, her voice tinged with panic.

Finn glances down at his watch. “It’s quarter past nine. You slept for about ten hours today; we didn’t want to wake you.”

“Quarter past-“ She bounds out of bed and tugs on her shoes, ignoring the slight stinging in her hands and feet. “I have to go.”

Her three companions stare at her like she’s gone insane. “What are you talking about, it’s night time” Finn says, his face twisted with confusion. “What do you have to go do at night time?”

“I have a thing,” she blurts out, grabbing a sweater that was slung over the foot of her bed. “I go out to the lookout point to pray and meditate most days. It’s a routine, I have to keep it.”

“You mean the lookout point with the amazing sunrises?” Poe asks, eyebrow raised.

Rey ignores him. “If no one else is protesting, I’m going to head off. I mean, you said the bleeding wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “But it was still bleeding.”

“Let her go,” Father Luke commands, his voice quiet but firm. “If she says it’s important, then it’s important.”

His face is tired and resigned, but when he locks eyes with Rey she gets the feeling that he _knows,_ or at least suspects that she won’t be alone tonight. It’s of no matter to her; Father Luke knows a lot of things, and as long as he’s willing to let her make her own decisions, she doesn’t care what he snoops around in.

She rushes down the hall, feet throbbing , pausing only to grab one of the morning’s muffins before she bursts out the door and tears through the garden on her way to the clearing. Navigating the tree branches, she squeezes her way through the foliage and emerges after only a few minutes, her eyes searching for Ben.

He’s sitting peacefully on the grass, his back resting against the big stump, sipping from his thermos as he reads a book in the dying light. At the sound of her arrival he turns and smiles. “Hey.”

She stands there panting, out of breath from her jog through the trees. “Hey.”

Methodically dog-earing the page of his book, he caps his thermos and pats the ground next to him. “Come have a seat. I heard you had a pretty rough day today.”

“That’s an understatement,” she huffs, flopping onto the grass. “It was a disaster. There was so many people, and they seemed to be normal at first, yeah? But then they found out who I was and they all went mental. They wanted to touch me and ask me questions and get me to bless their uteruses, and it was all just too much. And then I started bleeding,” she adds as an afterthought.

Ben’s eyes darken. “Did anyone hurt you?”

She laughs. “No, no I just bled spontaneously like I always do. _That_ riled them up, let me tell you. They were yelling out all sort of crazy things.”

He laughs as well, a small chuckle that makes Rey smile. “You seem to have that effect on people. And especially _those_ people...I mean, last time they had to deal with something like this, they nearly imploded.”

She sits up, intrigued. “What happened the last time? Who was it?”

He looks like he’s about to rethink it, give her some sort of bullshit answer Luke did before, but instead he blurts out, “My grandfather. It was my grandfather.”

“Your grandfather.” She frowns. “Father Luke’s father?”

“Yes,” Ben says, then adds as an afterthought. “He had stigmata exactly like yours.”

Rey’s eyes go as wide as saucers. “So that’s who- he mentioned that once! That he knew someone else who had had these.” She strokes the marks on her wrists. “So what happened to him?”

Ben takes in a deep breath and is about to respond when he’s interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. “What the-?” He looks at the screen and frowns. “My mother?” Almost without thinking, he ignores the call and stuffs the phone back into his pocket.

“You’re not going to take that?” Rey wonders.

He shakes his head. “I don’t even know why she’s calling. I haven’t spoken to her in years. The last time she called was-“ His voice trails off and he looks at Rey intently. “It wasn’t too important. It got to me eventually.”

There’s another buzz. Ben rolls his eyes, pulls out his phone and, seeing his mother’s face again, promptly slides his thumb to ‘ignore.’

Rey frowns. “But what if it’s important?”

“It’s never important. And even if it is, like I said, it will make it to me eventually.” He gestures his hand in front of him. “I never answer when she calls. There’s years of precedent and she knows this.”

_BuzzZZ!_

“Why is she- _argh!_ ” He ignores the call again, clicking the volume button on his phone until it goes blissfully silent before jamming his phone into his pocket with a bit of extra force. “I apologize for that. Where were we?”

“Your grandfather,” Rey says softly.

He nods. “Right. My grandfather Anakin was a prominent member of the church, as you could probably guess. When he was in his teens, he went to a party and got drunk, passed out. When he woke up, he woke up marked. No one knew what had happened, but some of the prominent members of the church decided it would be best to push him into the priesthood; that the marks were some sort of sign from God that my grandfather was meant to be a leader in the Church.”

“And was he?”

Ben lets out a loud bark of laughter, harsh and cynical. “My father always said I had too much of my grandfather in me, so that should answer your question. Anakin was amazingly connected to the Spirit and knowledgeable about the word, but he was also very rebellious and very passionate. He had been in love with Padme, my grandmother, since before he had gotten the marks, and he wasn’t going to let monastery life keep him from her. So he ran away. _They_ ran away.”

He leans back against the stump, his eyes strangely glassy. Rey scoots up next to him until their legs are almost touching, and urges him on, “What happened next?”

He looks down at her and raises an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Calm down, scavenger. Don’t rush me.”

“Sorry, teacher.” She grins cheekily. “So, you were saying your grandparents ran away together...”

So he tells her the story, the Skywalker family history, of how Anakin and Padme married in secret, breaking his vows to the priesthood. Of how the church had gone after him, fearing that he had finally gone mad. Of how they had found him, writhing on the ground, his wounds reopened next to Padme, who had succumbed to eclampsia giving birth to their twins.

“Mother was housed with a senator, while Uncle Luke was placed with my grandfather’s step-brother. Seems kind of unfair, don’t you think?” Ben absentmindedly runs his fingers through his hair.

“But they saw him again, right?”

“Luke did. When he was about your age, he tracked my grandfather down. Ended up finding him in a church-run mental hospital completely fucked in the head, being watched over by a herd of angry old nuns. That’s probably what did him in. That and the bullet he put in his brain.”

Rey flinches at the image. “Luke wasn’t there, was he?”

Ben closes his eyes and nods slowly. “Yeah, he saw the whole thing. My grandfather was so upset- it turns out the church had told him for years that his children were dead. When he saw my uncle and heard my mother was still alive...it was too much for him.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” He takes in a deep breath and exhales slowly through his pursed lips. “So now you know pretty much the whole story. My uncle’s always gone a bit more rogue than my mother regarding the church, just because he knows what it can do to people, but both of them still have such loyalty, it’s absolutely astonishing.”

“So is that why you left?” she asks.

He nods. “I, uh, after hearing the whole truth about the situation with my grandfather, I knew I couldn’t commit my entire life to the priesthood. If- _when_ I meet someone...someone special, I want to be able to commit myself to them without any issues. Aside from normal problems, of course. I know there are always problems.” He’s rambling now, stopping abruptly to rub his reddening face with his hand.

Rey is struck by how adorable he looks, and then is struck again by the fact that she just used the word _adorable_ to describe him. He’s massive, sulking, and constantly dressed completely in black, yet she looks at him and her heart swells the same way it does when she sees a cute puppy or a cat.

“Well, don’t worry about me,” she says reassuringly.

He stares at her, his jaw agape. “W-what do you mean? About what? Don’t worry-?”

“Don’t worry about me going insane. I have a pretty awesome support system here at the monastery, and with Finn and Poe. And you.”

“Oh, yeah.” His blush deepens, crawling up to the tips of his ears the peek through his hair. “That’s good to hear. I, uh, yeah.”

He takes in a big gulp of air, his hands twitching nervously in his lap. Rey squints, and cocks her head.

“So, do you think it will ever happen? You meeting someone?” she asks cheekily. “I mean you’re what- mid-late twenties?”

“I’m twenty nine,” he replies gruffly. “Almost thirty.”

She lets out a low whistle. “Whew, almost thirty.”

“Yeah, and you’re like, what? Twelve?” he counters.

“Nineteen, almost twenty.” He rolls his eyes, and she laughs. “Don’t worry, you have plenty of time left. I’ve heard that men get better with age.”

“Oh, you’ve heard that, have you?” He rubs his hands together nervously as he stares up at the deepening twilight. “Nineteen. Jesus _Christ._ ”

“One of the old ladies today said I was like the Virgin Mary reborn, ‘Immaculata’ she called me.” Rey scoffs, her brow furrowed. “Not bloody likely. It was funny though, because of what we talked about earlier, about Christians being obsessed with purity. This woman was almost _worshipping_ me, if I can even say that, and so naturally she assumed that I was the epitome of purity. Which I’m not.”

“You’re nineteen, how much trouble could you have gotten into?” Ben asks, and then instantly regrets it. Of _course_ she’s been in trouble; she lived on the streets for most of her life. That’s hardly an environment that breeds untouched, uncorrupted little angels.

“Well, I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says bluntly, her face impassive as she locks eyes with him.

His face flares up in a full blush and he struggles to look somewhere, anywhere, that’s not her defiant stare. He settles on a particularly vibrant bush somewhat to his left. “I wasn’t asking”

“I just thought I would get that out of the way. It’s hard to take care of yourself on your own without giving up some things.” She hugs her knees to her chest, a vulnerable move, but her eyes are still steely. “He was a good man, a kind man, and he gave me thirty bucks for it. I was able to eat for two weeks off of that. The other times I wasn’t so lucky.”

“We don’t have to talk about this” Ben stammers, glancing over at her.

She turns her head abruptly and faces him. “It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt me. I’m not ashamed. In fact, talking about it makes me feel a lot better. I did what I had to do to stay alive, and it brought me here, to this point with you. I regret nothing.”

His heart sinks. She’s so _strong,_ but he can see the cracks, the little fissures that she’s filled over all these years, the mistrust, the loneliness, the bitter ache of abandonment. Reaching his hand out, he softly brushes a stray lock of hair from her face and murmurs, “I wish I could have met you sooner.”

“ _REY!”_

“That’s Sister Mary,” Rey gasps, shaking her head abruptly. “She sounds really upset.”

Ben takes in a deep staggering breath, yanking his hand back as if he had never extended it. “I wonder if something’s wrong?”

“Sounds like it.” She chews on her lip, her face crumpling with worry. “I have to go,” she breathes.

Ben has already started collecting his books and his thermos, eyes focused on the bushes to the right in case he needs to make a quick escape. Pacing nervously, Rey watches him methodically latch his leather satchel and sling it over his shoulder, the rustling in the trees making her heart thud.

She’s just about to leave when he catches her hand with his. “Same time tomorrow?” he asks, dark eyes hopeful.

She nods. “Yeah. Same time, same place.”

He smiles his crooked smile and scurries into the thick trees and underbrush at the very edge of the forest. Not a moment too soon, Sister Mary comes tramping into the clearing, her long veil and habit catching against the tiny pine branches. Huffing, she pulls her clothes free and runs over to Rey.

“Where on Earth have you been?” she all but shrieks, hands flying in the air.

“Just here,” Rey answers. “Praying and meditating like I always do.”

Sister Mary frowns, knowing that she can’t be upset about that answer. “Well, we need you back at the monastery. Immediately. Something has come up.”

Rey follows the older woman through the trees, struggling to keep up with the nun’s surprisingly quick pace. In record time they emerge from the forest, and Rey’s startled to see the entire population of the monastery milling about with packed suitcases and sleeping bags over their shoulders. She can see several long vans parked at the foot of the stone steps by the gate and can even make out Poe’s wavy black hair at a distance.

“What’s going on?” she asks. “Why’s Poe here, and where is everyone going?”

She sees Father Luke in the corner by the tomato patch, his hooded form unmistakable, frantically talking to someone on a cell phone.

“No, I’m sure he’s fine,” she overhears him say, his tone soothing with an underlying note of tension. “You know he never picks up, that’s just how he is. Yes, I _know_ someone has to tell him. I’ll get someone here to run over to the church and see if he’s there.” He sighs. “Yes, I love you too. I promise I’ll find him.”

 _Ben._ Rey whirls around and snaps at Sister Mary. “Could you _please_ tell me what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“Father Luke and the sisters need to go into town for the night,” Sister Mary says. Sister Martha passes her a heavy duffel bag that she slings over her shoulder with ease. “You and Sister Constance will stay here to tend the garden and watch over the monastery. Poe Dameron has graciously offered to drive some of us to the city. I’m afraid we don’t have much experience navigating downtown with a van.”

“You’re going into town? On a Sunday night? Is it for some sort of special service?”

“Of a sort.” Guiding her gently by the arm, Sister Mary pulls Rey into the entryway by the chapel doors and points out the hooks and lists on the wall. “These are the keys to the utility closet, and this is the number for the repairman. The potted plants need to be watered twice a day, and the beds should be watered in the late afternoon. Don’t forget to turn the compost.”

Rey glances out the window and locks eyes with Father Luke. His normally weathered face is even more haggard than usual, and his sparkling blue eyes are dull and lifeless. She looks away, heart breaking.

“I still don’t understand.” she whispers. “What kind of service do you need to all go to? What’s wrong with Father Luke? Should I be going too?”

“Rey,” Sister Mary says, her voice strangely dull and monotone. “It’s not just any service. It’s a funeral.” She pauses, her eyes downcast, before adding, “Han Solo is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY REYLO DAY! (well, not so happy here. Poor Han)  
> I have to admit, I was also rooting a bit for FinnRey, but I guess this is one of those "One cannot live while the other survives" things. 
> 
> I'm rolling around a couple of one-shot ideas, and I was wondering what you guys would like to see first:  
> 1\. Game of Thrones crossover  
> 2\. Vampire crossover (with a little twist)  
> 3\. End of the World AU
> 
> Please let me know in the comments. Thank you all so much for you constant support :)


	11. The Valley of the Shadow

_Han Solo is dead._

Sister Mary shakes her head sadly. “Our poor director. To lose her husband, and like this...”

“Her husband? I thought they were divorced? And like how? I mean-“ Rey clamps her mouth shut to stop the flood of overly intrusive and inappropriate questions from flooding out of her mouth.

Sister Mary reaches over and squeezes her shoulder. “It’s okay to ask questions, Rey. Death is life’s greatest mystery, and it is one of society’s greatest shortcomings that we never talk about death. The director and Han Solo were divorced, yes, but they still loved each other very much. I’m sure in the eyes of God, they were still married.”

She glances out the window suspiciously. “As for your other question, follow me.”

Guiding Rey by the shoulder, she ducks into the chapel, closing the doors behind them. The space seems bigger than normal without the usual compliment of nuns filling the pews, and is only illuminated by a cluster of prayer candles and the dying sunlight.

Sister Mary faces her solemnly. “Now, I’m only telling you this because I know there will be rumours circulating once we return. I want you to hear the truth from me.” She takes in a deep breath. “Three days ago, Han Solo was diagnosed with cancer of the throat and stomach lining. Stage 4.”

Rey feels her heart pound heavily in her throat. “I-I don’t know what that means,” she stammers. “Is that bad?”

“It’s very bad. The highest stage; it means the cancer was in his lymphatic system and his blood. There was almost no chance of recovery.”

“Wow,” Rey gasps. “I guess it was a blessing that he didn’t suffer for very long?”

“That’s the thing,” Sister Mary says as her gaze focuses somewhere off in the distance. “It wasn’t the cancer. When he got the diagnosis, Han decided to end his own life. He shot himself in the backseat of his car. Leia found him a couple of hours ago.”

Rey’s eyes blur when she remembers the constant buzzing of Ben’s phone during their last meeting, the twist of annoyance in his features when he saw it was his mother, his blind insistence that it was nothing. “Oh my God,” she gasps, a single tear falling down her cheek.

Sister Mary’s eye twitches at the profanity, but she doesn’t comment. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but suicide is taken very seriously in the Catholic church. In the past, people who killed themselves were automatically assured a place in the very depths of Hell. Now,” she shrugs “Now the church isn’t so sure.”

“But you’re sure,” Rey notes.

Mouth drawn, the older woman nods. “I didn’t have much hope for the soul of Han Solo, even if he hadn’t committed suicide, but now that he has, I have almost no doubt that he has damned himself eternally.”

“Wow, that’s very...definite,” Rey grimaces.

“It’s the truth. Father Luke is going to put in a lot of effort to give Han a ‘proper’ church funeral, but I think he’s wasting his time. It’s just a farce, something to appease his sister in her grief.” Sister Mary shakes her head. “We shouldn’t compromise our beliefs just to make people happy. That only leads away from the church, to other things.”

Rey leans a hand against the wall to steady herself, still reeling a little from the news. “So are the rest of you guys going to help with the funeral as well?” she asks weakly. “Luke and Leia will need all of you?”

“Apparently so. There’s the wake, the funeral, and a luncheon afterwards, and the Director no doubt wants the best for her husband. They have no other family, save their brothers and sisters in Christ.”

“What about Leia’s son?” The question has been on the tip of Rey’s tongue since the beginning of this conversation. “Has anyone told him?”

“Ben?” Sister Mary can’t hide the slight sneer that creeps along her upper lip. “I haven’t heard anything about him. But that’s not surprising; he spent so much time trying to distance himself from his family, he can’t be shocked that no one wants to contact him when things go sideways.”

Rey bites her lip to suppress the shock of anger that runs through her veins. “Doesn’t every son deserve to know when his father passes?”

“The fact that you still refer to him as Han and Leia’s son, after everything he did...” Sister Mary’s voice trails off. “But that’s another story for another time.”

There’s a light rap on the door. “ _Sister Mary?”_ Sister Martha calls out, her voice muffled by the thick wooden door. “ _Father Luke says it’s time to go._ ”

The nun gives Rey a curt nod. “Don’t forget the compost, and if you need any help there’s a list of parishioners’ numbers by the keys. Most will be at the funeral, but the Bergs and the Sullivans at least won’t be there all day.”

“If anything goes wrong, I’ll call Finn,” Rey adds eagerly.

Sister Mary smiles, a grimace-like expression that doesn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Right. Well, have a good night. God bless.”

“You too.”

Rey slumps down in the back pew, listening as the door slides shut behind the sisters. She wants to run to the phone, wants to call the number that’s been etched into her brain since the moment she received the terrible news, but she plants herself, calms her breath, and waits.

A tentative creak announces Sister Constance’s presence in the chapel. “Hey Rey,” the young nun says, sliding into the same pew. “Crazy news, hey?”

“Yeah.”

Constance nods her head once, twice, then blurts out, “He was a really nice man. Han Solo, I mean. He was kind of inappropriate, but still nice.”

“Inappropriate?” Rey smirks despite the sombre mood. “How so?”

“Well, he used to call all of us ‘sweetheart,’ even Sister Mary, and boy did it bother her!” Wringing her tiny hands, Constance adds, “She knew him from before she was a sister. He used to chat with her about old times, said he used to remember when she could drink him under the table! Can you even imagine?”

“No,” Rey says honestly. “No I can’t. Do you think they ever-?”

The insinuation is apparently so shocking that Sister Constance gasps aloud, hand against her heart. “Those two? Never! Han Solo and Director Organa have been in love for over thirty years. She sometimes tells stories about it when she visits; she says that he latched on the moment he met her and never let go. Actually...”

Sister Constance turns to Rey, her eyes sparkling with something akin to pure mischievousness. “Do you want to do something bad?”

A myriad of situations ranging from ‘have sex’ to ‘desecrate the massive chapel crucifix’ fly through Rey’s brain, each more ludicrous than the last. “Um, what do mean by ‘something bad?’ I don’t want to do anything illegal, if that’s what you mean.”

The young nun shakes her head, which sends her black habit flying behind her like a superhero’s cape. “Of course not. Follow me.”

Sister Constance darts up and weaves through the pews until she reaches the front left hand corner of the chapel. Extending her hand, she beckons Rey forward before slipping into the unlit expanse of a prayer alcove. Frowning, Rey follows her, squinting in the dark nook. There’s a small door there, tucked away behind a massive silver candelabra, that’s apparently been left unlocked since Sister Constance is able to wiggle it open without much effort.

Behind the door lies a small, spartan office, with a rough wooden desk and equally uncomfortable looking chair. There’s a bookshelf on either side, both overstuffed with dusty looking tomes of various sizes and colours. The walls are plastered and bear no art or any decorations whatsoever. Even the lighting is modest with a single naked incandescent bulb providing the only illumination for the room aside from a well used candle nub on the desk.

“This is Father Luke’s study, isn’t it?” Rey breathes.

Sister Constance mumbles to the affirmative, already perusing the bookshelves. With a small squeak of success, she dislodges an old leather bound photo album and lays it out on the desk.

The first picture is of a young, sandy blond man with brilliant blue eyes. Despite the obvious late seventies hairstyle and unlined face, the man is instantly identifiable as Father Luke. Next to him is Leia, young and beautiful as ever, her dark eyes furrowed in a frown and mouth scowling at their companion.

Rey’s stomach twists when she sees the third man, the recipient of Leia’s surly expression, because he’s so _Ben_ , from his tousled hair to his long nose and crooked grin. She’d never met the man, had barely even heard of him really, but his intensity and passion is so palpable that it leaks off of the photograph.  It’s so sobering really; Han Solo is tall and broad and vibrant in the picture, and the image clashes so intensely with the harsh reality of his recent demise.

“It’s amazing that someone who was so alive could have an ending like his,” Constance comments, thumbing through the album. “Like I know everyone who dies was once alive, but he was a lot more alive than most people. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. It makes total sense.” Rey catches one of the pages with her finger and gently guides it open. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees him, _Ben,_ probably not more than twelve years old, sandwiched between his two proud liking parents. They’re all wearing some unfortunate nineties fashion, and Ben has a bowl cut of all things, but they’re so happy and complete looking-

She coughs and abruptly slams the book shut, narrowly missing Constance’s fingers. “It’s getting late, and we shouldn’t be here.”

The other woman nods. “Right. I’ll put this back. Sorry, yeah, you’re right.” She slides the book onto the shelf as Rey slinks out of the room. “Sorry about that, I just thought you would want to see.”

“No, no, that’s fine.” Rey leads them back into the kitchen and flicks on the lights, squinting against the sudden brightness. “It was funny to see Father Luke. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that everyone was young once.”

“Especially him.” Constance fills the kettle and sets it on the stove to boil. “Tea?”

Rey nods. “Do you mind if I-?” She points to just outside the door where the phone nook is barely visible.

“Who’re you calling?”

“Finn.” The lie falls easily from her lips.

Sister Constance’s mouth breaks into a wicked grin. “Finn the nurse? Are you guys...you know?”

Rey frowns. “No, we’re not ‘you know.’ He’s just my friend, and I just thought it would be nice to call him when there isn’t _everyone.”_ She waves her arms in a circle to emulate the general hustle and bustle of the monastery.

The phone nook is dark and quiet and, even though she expressly asked for a bit of privacy, Rey knows Constance is eavesdropping. It’s just the nature of ‘living in community’ as Father Luke calls it; everyone knows and wants to know everyone else’s business, more out of curiosity than outright maliciousness.

Her heart pounds as she dials the number. It rings once, twice, three times, then the obnoxious _ping_ of voicemail.

“ _Your call has been forwarded to our voice message service. Kylo Ren is unavailable to take your call-“_

She scrunches her face with frustration and irritation. Of course he would leave the greeting generic, and of course he wasn’t available to take her call. She’s just about to hang up when the phone _pings_  again and she’s stuck with the terse silence of the voicemail recording.

“Uh, hi it’s me. Rey,” she splutters. “I, uh, was just wondering if you’d heard the news. And how you’re doing.”

She desperately wants to say more, but she can see Constance through the cracked open kitchen door, grabbing teabags and listening. “Yeah so, um, call me? Please?” She cringes as her voice breaks. “Thanks, bye.”

She avoids eye contact as she re-enters the kitchen, but the other woman can’t leave well enough alone. “So he wasn’t there?” she asks, depositing a mug of milky tea in front of Rey. “Do you know what he’s doing tonight?”

“No, I’m not stalking him.” Rey sips the tea and winces. Way too much sugar. “He’s probably out with friends or sleeping or something.”

Constance shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so. It must be nice to have all sorts of friends that care about you. I mean, Finn and Poe Dameron came to look after you each time you...” She shrugs again, and turns her attention back to her tea.

“Each time I started bleeding?” Rey blurts out, decorum be damned. “You can talk about it, you know. It isn’t contagious.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know whether you were okay talking about it. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Oh.” Rey stares down at her mug. “Yeah, no, it’s fine. I’m fine with talking about it.”

Sister Constance chews on her cheek, nervously composing her thoughts. “So...would you like to play some Scrabble before we go to bed?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that is, but yes?” A burst of warmth rushes through Rey’s belly when she sees Constance smile. “That’s a game right?”

It turns out Scrabble _is_ a game; a game that Rey is absolutely horrific at. She groans every time her companion lays out a seven letter triple-word composition that she’s honestly never heard of before. Sister Constance swears that she just won a lot of spelling bees as a child but Rey, who only attended school until she was left on the streets, is so clueless that Constance could just be making everything up and she wouldn’t know the difference.

“I’m sorry, but ‘ _shkotzim’?”_ Rey splutters after over an hour of playing. “That can’t be real. You’re making it up.”

Constance gasps. “Excuse me? Shkotzim is the plural form of ‘shegetz,’ which is a word Jewish people use to describe a non-Jewish man. I did _not_ make it up.”

Exhaling a burst of air from between her teeth, Rey throws up her hands. “Fine! I give up.”

Constance glances up at the clock. “It’s probably for the best. We should probably get to bed.” She pauses. “You’re back in the east wing now, right?”

Rey furrows her brow. “Yes. Why?”

“Well, I just want to make sure I’m not alone.” Constance busies herself with collecting every tile, purposefully avoiding Rey’s gaze. “I mean, I’d be fine of course, but I’m a very heavy sleeper. I would hate for someone to knock on the door and not have me hear it.”

Rey smiles. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll protect you from the bad guys.”

The young nun breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m not scared, I know God will protect us. It’s just strange to be here, just the two of us...”

“Don’t worry about it.” Rey reaches over to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m used to sleeping outside of abandoned buildings. We have walls here, and locks. What could go wrong?”

Famous last words.

She’s only asleep for an hour before she hears the first crash. It’s a sudden, sharp sound followed by an echoed tinkling noise.

“Glass. The windows!” she breathes, fumbling around in the darkness for her sweater.

Then there’s a different smash, not of delicate stained glass, but of something thick and solid. Prayer candles. Then a wooden bang accented by the sound of something splintering.

Rey freezes with one arm in her sleeve.

Common teenaged vandals would be one thing; she’s sure she would have no issue taking on a couple of punks younger than her. But the monastery is almost an hour’s drive away from the city. No teenager would drive that long just to come and deface an old church. Thieves, however, especially thieves who know that the majority of the staff are gone for the night, would definitely have motive to travel up the mountain, especially if it meant scoring some gilded gold candlesticks and priceless art.

Taking a deep breath, she pulls on her sweater and slinks across her bedroom. Her door has mercifully decided to refrain from its normal squeaking, so she’s able to creep down the hall, her slippered feet silent against the rough wood floor.

She pauses at Sister Constance’s room. True, another person would be helpful in case there’s some sort of altercation, but Sister Constance is five feet tall and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, not to mention her nervous nature. Shaking her head, Rey moves on.

She stops by the kitchen pantry to grab a sturdy wooden broom, then breathlessly tiptoes to the thick chapel door. The bangs and crashes are gone now, replaced by a strange snuffling noise that almost sounds like wailing but is probably the scrape of moving furniture muffled by the wooden door.

A pang of fear clenches her throat so suddenly she almost drops her weapon. “ _What if these are big murderous thugs with guns?”_ her brain screams. “ _Are a couple of paintings really worth dying for?”_ It’s the unknown situation that stalls her hand on the handle. She’s fought people before, but mostly drug addicts, starving prostitutes, and other desperate people her own age, and she’s always been able to assess the situation before entering. However, with the door blocking her sight, Rey decides her best bet is to shrink against the wall and wait.

Luckily for her, she doesn’t have to wait long. The noises stop almost as suddenly as they began and the monastery is shrouded in a dark veil of silence once again. Gripping her broom handle, Rey edges her was closer to the doors and gingerly yanks one open.

The floor of the chapel looks like it’s covered in a dusting of giant multicoloured glitter. She very carefully steps into the space, thanking the Lord that her slippers have a thick foam sole, and surveys the damage. One of the candelabras has been overturned, and several wooden ornaments have been thrown and smashed, along with an entire table of votives. She looks up and sees that only one window is actually broken, a small one to the left of the candle rack that was made up of small panes of brightly coloured glass. No art was lost and, more troublingly, the intruders apparently did not enter through the windows.

Her pulse quickens. _Someone broke in through the front door._ She’s about ready check the locks and call 911, when her gaze finally rests on her would be thief and all of the puzzle pieces slide into place.

 It’s strange to see him indoors, sitting in the same pew that Father Luke sits in every morning, staring up at the same cross that the sisters pray to at night. His face is barely illuminated by the flickering candlelight but, even from several paces behind him, Rey can tell that he’s been crying.

“I’m sorry about your father.”

Even with her voice low, her words echo through the chapel. Ben shudders as if she had cursed at him, and doesn’t move to acknowledge her. She pads forward, her feet against the glass, and slides into the pew next to him, sure to keep her eyes trained on the golden crucifix.

Finally he speaks. “He was as good as dead. I don’t blame him.”

“Of course not.” She looks over at him, but his eyes are still fixed on the cross. “I’m sure no one would blame him.”

At this, Ben chuckles darkly. “Oh, you still have so much to learn.”

Frowning, Rey squares her shoulders and sits up straighter. “No, they told me. Sister Mary said that your Father would burn in Hell for what he did. I just don’t believe it, and I’m pretty sure you don’t believe it either. Isn’t your church all about making your own rules?”

“Among other things, but it doesn’t mean we’re always right.” He takes in a shaky breath and turns his head to face her. “Look, just because I write or preach on doing your own thing and being accountable to God later doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in rules or believe in the Church.”

“So you’re lying to people then.”

“No, I’m not!” he says sharply, then quickly retreats. “I’m not lying. I believe that people should have their own interpretations of the Bible and they should conduct themselves by their own moral compass. However, as far as my own beliefs-“

“They haven’t changed,” Rey breathes. “You still believe what the Church teaches.”

“Not with everything,” Ben interjects. “No with their views on most social issues. But when it comes to God and the afterlife...some things are harder to shake than others. I’ve tried to believe something different, but after all of my studies I am still convicted by the old teachings and the old rules.”

“Oh no.” She reaches out a hand and grips his shoulder. “Ben. You really believe that your father is going to Hell? That’s awful.”

His face falls and he bites his full bottom lip. She can see that he’s trembling and tense like an exposed nerve, and she doesn’t know how long he can hold it together until he just _doesn’t_. It’s awkward, what with them both being seated and him being almost a foot taller than her, but Ben’s tired and drained and done, so he just lets go and slumps against her, spent.

Rey freezes. The increased physical contact is not unwelcome, per say, just strange and unexpected. It takes her a moment, but once her brain decides to stop short circuiting she relaxes and squeezes her arms around him in a very strange sort of hug.

 She’s sure that to an observer they would look ridiculous, but she doesn’t care and instead focuses on framing his broad shoulders with her arms as his body shakes with barely suppressed sobs. His torso is almost bent in half, not a comfortable position by any stretch of the imagination, so she’s about to let go when he slides off the pew, knees thumping on the floor, and moves his arms to grip her solidly around her waist. Her protests die on her lips when she hears him let out a small moan of sorrow.

“Oh Ben,” she murmurs, cradling his head on her lap as he breaks down, tears flowing freely to soak into the hem of her pyjama shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

And she is sorry. She thinks about Han Solo and how he must have felt, out of hope with no other option. She thinks of Father Luke’s mournful face that morning, as he left to comfort his sister and bury his brother in law. She thinks of Leia, alone now, without her husband or son to stand by her.

And Ben. Poor conflicted, confused, angry Ben, so full of faith and promise, but so burdened by expectation and gifts and doctrine that he just can’t seem to shake.

“It’s all my fault,” he mumbles, his voice muffled into her legs.

She frowns and squeezes his shoulder again. “Of course it’s not. Don’t say that, don’t blame yourself for this.”

“It’s true though.” He turns his head to the side and takes a gasping breath. “I could have talked him out of it, but I wasn’t there. She was all alone and she couldn’t tell him what he needed to hear.”

“Your mother did the best she could,” Rey murmurs. “The only thing that’s your fault is the mess you made in here.”

 He chuckles darkly. “The mess in here is the least of my problems.”

“Tell that to the window. And tell that to Saint Monica, I think you smashed all of her candles.”

“Fucking Saint Monica.” There’s no venom in his voice, only exhaustion. “My mother probably wasted so much time praying to her.” He sighs, letting out a huge shuddering rush of breath that causes his body to tremble. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on with me right now. I feel like I’m being torn apart.”

Rey’s hands twitch. She’s not sure what to do in this situation; she feels like the entire night has been totally bizarre and chaotic, and it’s not that she doesn’t want Ben to be here, but it just feels _weird._ It feels weird that he’s indoors, and weird that he’s apparently destroyed a good chunk of the chapel, and it’s exceptionally weird that he’s on the floor and his head is on her lap and they’re talking about _feelings_ , for God’s sake.

But that’s death. Death is strange and awkward and weird and unexpected, and Rey knows that more than most. It has a way of warping reality, making some things clear while blurring the edges of others. It affects everything and everyone differently, but across the board there’s one thing that’s certain.

No one should have to deal with death alone.

“Hey,” she breathes. Tentatively, she rests a hand on his head, barely touching the slightly sweaty locks of hair beneath. “Do you want to stay the night?”

He freezes.

“I-it would have to be in here,” she stammers, just realising the implications behind her question. “Stay the night here in the chapel, I mean. I can get you a pillow and some blankets, and even something to eat if you’re hungry. I just thought that maybe you wouldn’t want to be al-“

“Yes.” His eyes are swollen, several tears still trailing down his cheeks, but he manages to give her a small smile. “That would be perfect.”  

“Okay, good. I can go grab you some supplies.”

He catches her by the wrists before she has a chance to leave. “Can you pray for me?” he wonders, not really asking, as if the question were merely rhetorical.

Her breath catches in her throat when he starts to rub his thumbs against her wounds. It’s not unpleasant; in fact it feels intense and amazing, like putting ointment on a burn. “I told you earlier, I’m no good at praying.”

He looks up at her through the mass of unruly hair that has fallen in his face. “It doesn’t have to be fancy. I just-“ His voice breaks and he averts his eyes.

“You’re lonely,” Rey whispers.

“I-“

“I can do it.” She glances around the dark chapel. “It’s just us, so I can do it. Father Luke taught me one a couple days ago. It’s not anything fancy, but I remember it at least. ” Clearing her throat, she does a final survey of the space, despite the fact that it’s the dead of night in the middle of nowhere. Of course they’re alone.

“It goes like this: ‘ _Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name...”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your wonderful feedback! Sorry it's a bit late; I trimmed a bunch so I could get this chapter out, but I'll try to get the next one out promptly.
> 
> Please be sure to check out my new Reylo one-shot "Throne." It's the first of a series I'm doing based on songs from the official Kylo Ren and Rey Spotify playlists, so if you have a favourite song from either of them please let me know. As well, I will be participating in Take Your Fandom to Work Day, so I'll have another Reylo one-shot (Engineering AU) out before June 1st as well.


	12. Night

The kitchen is pitch black, and Rey can barely navigate through the murky darkness without stubbing her toe on a counter or hitting her head on a hanging pot. With a pillow under one arm and a quilt under the other, she pries open a cupboard with her elbow and feasts her eyes on her prize.

“Aha,” she breathes.

She’s sure about God, but not so sure about Hell at this point, and even less sure if this is something she may go to Hell for. Even so, she’s sure even Jesus Christ himself wouldn’t begrudge a mourning man for having a little taste of wine.

Communion wine, that is.

Ben glances up from his pew when she slips back into chapel. He frowns. “Is that...?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not blessed yet.” She examines the unopened bottle. “I think.”

He tilts his head, face riddled with confusion. “You are a very strange girl, you know that?”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“Just...this.” He gestures vaguely at her with his hand.

She’s in her ratty pyjamas and sweater, wrapped in a heavy quilt, carrying a pillow, an apple, and a bottle of wine while shuffling across the floor in slippers. It’s almost guaranteed that the chapel hasn’t played host to such an eccentrically dressed person since at least the Seventies. Unceremoniously, she drops the bedding in a corner that appears unaffected by his destructive episode. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers,” she comments.

“I’m not complaining, I’m just...” A strange look crosses his face. “Never mind.”

He makes his way over to the blanket pile and arranges them in a stark looking nest. Rey takes one look at it and shakes her head.

“That doesn’t look comfy. I’ll be right back.”

“Rey, it’s-“

She’s already gone, soundlessly sliding out the door like a thief in the night. Ben takes in a deep breath and sits in his pile of blanket, leaning his head against the firm feather pillow.

Well  _fuck._

No one has ever accused Ben of being an analytical person, but even he can admit that the night’s antics were a bit overboard. He’s thought about this moment before; about how he would feel when the man who was barely his father finally bit the dust. The frustration he predicted, as well as the overwhelming anger. He had even allowed for a bit of sadness for sentimentality’s sake. The real surprise in this experience has been the heavy feeling of guilt that sagged onto his soul the moment he heard the news, and hasn’t budged yet.

He didn’t pull the trigger.

He didn’t eat away his father’s digestive system.

But still, he can’t shake the notion that it is all somehow his fault.

A bundle of blankets drop at his feet. “This is all I could find,” Rey says, panting slightly. “Constance got up to go to the bathroom, so I had to hide.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So she didn’t hear...earlier?”

“No, she’s a really heavy sleeper so she didn’t hear your tantrum. Sorry,” she adds as an afterthought. “I know your dad just died, but that doesn’t excuse your behaviour, does it?”

She speaks with confidence, but the tail end of her question indicates that the query isn’t totally rhetorical.

“No, no it doesn’t” he answers, and he notices her shoulders sag with relief.

“Good. To be honest, I actually didn’t really know.” She unfolds the blankets methodically, fingers running over the intricate stitching. “I’ve known a lot of people who have died, but I never really had the luxury of mourning them, so I don’t really know how people mourn.”

“What about your parents?” Ben blurts out. “Were you able to mourn them?”

She looks away, her face falling. “I don’t actually know if they’re dead.”

If possible, Ben feels the knot in his stomach twist even tighter. “Oh shit. So they...?”

“They left me, yeah.”

Rey sits down on the edge of the blankets and rests her head against the wall, her eyes tired and shoulders hunched. “I’m not going to pretend that I know what you’re going through,” she whispers. “But I understand loneliness. I feel it too. Sometimes I feel like I’m surrounded by an ocean, and every interaction I have with someone is as meaningless as a wave brushing my ankle.”

“And you’re scared of making a connection, even though you crave it,” he adds. “Because you’re tired of being let down. You don’t want to give anyone else the opportunity to hurt you.”

“Yeah.”

Ben looks over at her small, wilted form and, unable to suppress the urge, reaches his long arm over to sweep her in towards him. She doesn’t offer any resistance and goes almost limp when he clutches her to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt. He knows his heart is probably pounding hard enough for her to hear it, but he’s so drained he doesn’t even care and holds her tighter, turning his head to breathe in the soapy smell of her hair.

A patch of wetness blooms up on his chest. He clutches Rey like a lifeline as her body shudders with little half suppressed sobs. “Hey,” he breathes. “You okay?”

She gives a rather mucusy sounding snort. “I’m supposed to be the one asking you that.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, you know. You used my shirt as a handkerchief earlier; I’m just returning the favour.”

He lets out a harsh bark of laughter that ends with a long, resigned sigh. A tear escapes from his eye and rolls down his cheek, landing gently on the top of Rey’s head.

“Damn it,” he groans, then lets the rest flow freely, carving new rivulets down his face to land in her hair.

The chapel is silent, punctuated only by their twin sniffs and Rey’s post-cry hiccups. A part of him is alert, waiting for the police or the neighbours or that heavy-sleeping little nun to show up, but no one disturbs them.

“I-it’s hard to learn how to care again,” Rey admits, her face half hidden in his shirt. “How to trust people again, people in authority. Especially people like Father Luke.”

“Maybe that’s a sign that you shouldn’t trust people like Father Luke.” Ben’s deadpan comment is rewarded by a sharp pinch at his side. “OW! Shit, sorry,  _sorry._ ”

“You forgot about our deal. No bad mouthing my friends. And he’s hardly the worst; I mean, I trust  _you_  for God’s sake.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely a bad decision on your part.” He looks down at her under his arm, his eyes trailing over her closed eyes and plush pink lips. “I am, after all, the worst.”

“The  _worst.”_

“Totally.”

As if the current emotional soup isn’t tremulous enough, Rey darts out just long enough to grab the bottle of wine before assuming her position against his side.

He frowns. “Do you need me to go find you a corkscrew?”

“No need.” She peels the plastic wrapper off of the neck of the bottle with her teeth. “Screw top”

He lets out a soft whistle. “Whew. Only the best of the blood of the Lamb apparently.”

Rey’s laugh echoes off the old wooden arches.  She unscrews the bottle and takes a long swig, wincing when she pulls it away. “Ugh. That’s probably been under the cupboard since Father Luke was a baby,” she comments as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

Ben takes the proffered bottle and gulps down a mouthful of wine. It tastes like how cigarette butts smell: old, musty, with a sharp tang that clings in the back of his throat. He coughs and takes a couple more drags before passing it back. “I always thought wine was something that got better with age.”

“I can’t imagine this could have started off any worse.”

They pass the bottle back and forth in relative silence until it’s almost empty. Ben feels only slightly tipsy, but it’s nice nonetheless. Coupled with the feeling of a beautiful woman cozied up to him, it takes the edge off of probably one of the worst nights of his life.

“Hey Ben?”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you think this was your fault?”

He stiffens for a moment as his face twitches uncomfortably. “Well, I know not _all_ of it is my fault. The cancer for instance- I had nothing to do with that.”

She snorts.

“But other stuff, especially my father’s loneliness.” He takes in a deep breath. “Gosh, I’ve never-never actually told this to anyone. After it all happened, the monastery, leaving home, starting up the First Order, I was really angry. I had a lot of unresolved feelings about my family and my parents especially. Still do,” he adds.

“I never would have guessed,” Rey responds dryly.

“Smartass. Back then I was a stupid kid and I basically assumed that, if I wasn’t happy, no one else was allowed to be happy either. So I started rumours. Rumours about my father’s infidelity, rumours about my mother badmouthing him and his career, rumours that she thought their marriage was a mistake.”

Rey frowns. “That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Ben lets the last couple drops of wine fall into his mouth. “But I was still a teenager and didn’t exactly have the best influences back then. I was a punk ass kid living with other punk ass kids. Keeping my parents apart was the one thing that made me feel like I was in control of my life.”

“So where does Snoke come in?”

The shift in his demeanour is palpable, even from her position under his arm. He sits up straighter, his arm stiffens, and his voice becomes clearer, almost theatrical in nature. “Superintendant Snoke saved me. He gave me some much needed structure in my life. He appreciated me when I was at my worst and saw my potential even from a young age. I wanted to leave on my own terms, but he showed me that I needed his help and experience or else I would fail.” His voice twists with bitterness. “He was the father I never had; a true Man of God.”

Rey suppresses a shudder. “I understand.”

And she does, sort of. She understands the empty ache of loneliness and the desperation that comes with little affirmation growing up. It’s why she always worked so damn hard for Unkar Plutt, why she stayed with him even though other junk dealers paid more and would have treated her better. He was the one who picked her up when she was down, who saw her and thought _Here’s someone I can use._

Older Rey shivers at the memory.

She looks up at the stained glass at the front of the chapel. There’s several transparent scenes, each more colourful than the next, with the most prominent being a large mosaic of Jesus Christ. He’s walking in a crowd, his white and blue robes a contrast with the browns and beiges around him. The most striking feature of the scene is the woman at his feet grasping his robe like a lifeline.

Ben’s eyes follow hers. “Matthew 9: 20-22. Jesus heals a woman who had been bleeding for twelve years. In the Jewish tradition, that meant she was unclean and had to life her life sequestered away from society. She braved society’s scorn to venture out in the crowd and see Christ, and when she grasps his robes, he tells her, ‘ _Take heart, your faith has healed you_.’”

Rey self consciously rubs at her wrists and looks up at him. “That’s wonderful. Could you tell me more?”

“More Bible stories? It’s not Sunday school.”

 “I don’t know, it just feels strange to sit here and talk without somehow involving God in all of this.” She shrugs. “This is his house, after all.”

“Fine then.” Ben scoots over to one of the pews and pulls a Bible from its slot on the back of the bench.  He scoots back over next to Rey and drops the book in her lap. “Why don’t you read to me?”

“Read the Bible? To  _you?”_  She laughs. “Haven’t you heard it all already?”

“Of course, but maybe hearing it from you will give me some new insights.”

“Alright then.” She thumbs through the tissue thin pages as he makes himself comfortable next to her. Feeling bold, she smoothes the front of her pyjama pants and warily pats her lap with her free left hand. He raises a skeptic eyebrow but she can tell he’s eager by the way the corners of his mouth are twitching.

“Go ahead,” she whispers, heart pounding.

It’s amazing how he unfurls himself from his crouched position. One moment he’s squashed next to her against the wall, and the next he’s spread out, all six feet and four inches of him, on the worn wooden floor of the chapel. Gently, he lays his head on her lap and his hair fans out around his face, inky swirls on the dusty grey of her pyjama pants. Emboldened even more by his closeness, she threads her shaking fingers through his hair, eliciting a not too subtle groan of pleasure from Ben.

Her hand stills. “Hush,” she hisses.

“Please don’t stop,” he replies. “I haven’t felt this good in ages.”

So she continues, rubbing up against his hairline before stroking his scalp with firm fingertips. Ben takes up a deep breath, his heart welling with the sensation of being touched, appreciated, even understood in a small way. He makes a half hearted attempt to squeeze back the tears that well in his eyes, but it’s no use. Rey, thankfully, says nothing.

“John chapter one,” she reads, her clear voice echoing through the chapel.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” She frowns, confused, and looks down at Ben for clarification, but his eyes are already closed, so she continues. “He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was like, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. Hey Ben?”

“Keep reading,” he murmurs. “You have a beautiful voice.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m English.” She blushes all the same. “But Ben, can you explain something to me?”

“Anything as long as you keep massaging my head like this.”

“That’s fair I suppose.” She reverently marks her place in the Bible with its ribbon bookmark, and sets it down on the floor. Now with both hands free, she frames Ben’s face with her fingers and starts to firmly stroke his temples.

His eyes fly open. “Oh, God,” he moans.

“Don’t be obscene,” Rey chastises, but her hands continue their ministrations, travelling across his scalp, stroking behind his ears, and even trailing lightly against his neck until she notices that his body has gone as still and stiff as a board.

“I’m sorry, am I doing something wrong?”  She starts pulling her fingers away but he’s quicker, reaching up his hand to catch her gently by her wrist.

“No,” he chokes out. “Not at all.” Letting go of her wrist, he wriggles his body around on the floor until he looks a bit more relaxed. “You were saying you need something explained?”

“Um, yeah. The whole passage, actually. Who is the ‘Word’ John is talking about? Is it Jesus?”

Ben closes his eyes, focusing into his 'Biblical Scholar' mode of thinking. "Yeah, sort of. The beginning of John is sort of a prequel for Genesis and the creation story. The Greek word for 'word,'  _logos,_  is where we derive the word logic from."

"So in the beginning there was logic? And logic is Jesus." Rey frowns. "Is that supposed to make sense?"

"No, not really." He rubs his face. “You know about the Trinity, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Jesus is the Father’s truest expression of His love. He _is_ love, distilled into a form we can understand, like how words transmit ideas. He is so much more than that, of course, but that’s just a simple explanation.”

“And the Light and the Dark?” Rey asks. “I know it seems simple, but it seems to talk a lot about that in the Bible. ‘The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.’ What’s all that about?”

“It really depends on your translation. Some say that darkness cannot overcome Light, and some say it cannot understand it or comprehend it. Either way, it stands that there is both Darkness and Light; they coexist as opposing factions in God’s creation. The darkness cannot overcome the light any more than the light can overcome the darkness in this world.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. The Light is good and the Dark is bad, and we’re supposed to combat the darkness, aren’t we? The darkness is sin.”

He smiles a little when she says ‘ _we_.’ “Good and bad, darkness and light. It’s all relative, really, all human terms that we use to describe the Divine. The Gnostics believed that Christians should strive to extract all light from darkness, that our human desires stemmed from this dark path and should therefore be completely eradicated. No enjoyment of life was allowed: no fun, beauty, sex, art, delicious food. It was all eschewed for a completely ascetic life free of the danger of worldly pleasures. Sound familiar?”

“Hey,” she cautions, her fingers stilling in his hair. “The food here isn’t that bad.”

Ben smiles, reaching his long arms out to stretch before hauling himself upright. Without the awkwardness of last time, he raises his arm for Rey to scoot under, which she does after taking a large bite from her scavenged apple.

“So did God create darkness then?” she asks in between chews.

“He admits as much in the book of Isaiah, and it is implied in Genesis as well.”

“So the key is balance then. Enjoyment without excess, pleasure with mindfulness. Like what you’re trying to do in your church.” She shivers, her thin pyjamas not much defence against the drafty stone walls, and wiggles her body under a blanket.

Ben’s heart hammers in his chest. He can feel her wedged up against him even more than last time, her small body curled up against his larger one for heat. “Yeah, balance,” he agrees.

His left hand, the one not resting on her arm, feels strangely twitchy on his lap, so he hides it under the blanket as well. Even though he can’t see anything beneath the quilted fabric, he can _feel_ his hand’s proximity to hers, only a few inches away. Of course his skin chooses that moment to go clammy, breaking out in a cold sweat at even the thought of making contact with an appendage of the opposite sex.

She looks up at him shyly, apparently oblivious to the drama brewing beneath the covers. “I want to visit one day. Your church, that is.”

“You want to visit the First Order?” He can’t even comprehend what would happen if she walked through those doors into his sacred space. Sure, she’s definitely too good for the stagnant glorified folk religion she’s currently affiliated with, but even the First Order doesn’t seem like a proper environment for her. “Why on Earth would you want to go there?”

“I want to see it. You. Everything. I want to see what it’s all about.”

He frowns, his eyes dark. “They would never allow it.” The subject of the statement doesn’t need to be explained.

“Oh, and like my visit to the basilica ended so well?” Rey rolls her eyes at the memory of that debacle. “I just feel like I need to see it for myself. I mean, Finn told me about his experience and it honestly sounded a bit scary.”

“You have more knowledge of the Spirit in your earlobe then Finn has in his entire soul. Of course it was scary for him, he had no idea what he was looking at.”

“He said that you were doing something to the kids,” she tentatively adds, aware that he’s still a swirling tornado of emotion that’s barely being held in check. “He said Hux was bringing them to you, and that you were making them do things.”

He nods his head, chewing on his lower lip for a moment before speaking. “Have you ever seen the film  _Jesus Camp_?”

“Oh yes,” she replies sarcastically. “I had a lot of opportunities to watch films growing up.”

“Right, sorry, I keep on forgetting. I’ll just explain it, I guess.” He takes in a deep breath. “ _Jesus Camp_  is about a Pentecostal camp for kids, teens and under.”

“Your church is Pentecostal, right?”

“Yes and no.” He shrugs. “We have to operate under some sort of banner for organizational purposes, but we differ in a lot of ways. Anyways,  _Jesus Camp_  focuses on some young kids who are leaders in this group, and it highlights their spiritual experience; their connection to the Holy Spirit, their knowledge of scripture, etc. It was a controversial documentary because the majority of people are uncomfortable seeing children in states of worship, simply because they believe that children are incapable of understanding the complexities of religion.”

She nods and snuggles in a bit closer under his arm. Her fingers brush his for a brief second, causing his breath to catch in his throat. “I-It’s silly, actually, w-when you think about it,” he stutters. “In the Gospels, Jesus tells his disciples that they must become like little children before they can receive the kingdom of Heaven. By their very nature, children are more in tune with the Spirit simply because they  _don’t_  strive to understand, they just believe. And I guess what I do sometimes is facilitate that belief. Push them in the right direction.”

 “Do you think you could facilitate my belief?”

Her voice is small, but the implications are obvious. Ben’s heart thrums in his chest. “I could, I guess. I can’t say for certain. What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, really. We do all of these rituals everyday that people have been doing for thousands of years, and it does mean something to me.” She straightens up a bit so that she can look him in the eye. “I appreciate routine, I really do, but I don’t feel like it means as much to me as it does to everyone else. I don’t know if it’s something I’m doing wrong, or whether this is a bad fit, but I don’t know if I’m really getting connected with God.”

She lets out a small chuckle that’s more like a quick exhale of air than anything. “I believe in God. I always have, and I believe in Jesus, but everything else is a bit harder to make sense of. You probably think it’s because everything here is useless.”

“You said it, not me.” She’s about to poke him again, but he adds, “I do think Uncle Luke has made a huge mistake with you. He’s seen your markings and assumed that means he can just throw you off the deep end, that you’ll somehow just understand the final nuances of the faith and fit perfectly into life here. But that’s a major assumption.”

“Yeah.” Her voice is small.

“And I’m not saying that you’re incapable of figuring things out. It’s just that theology and doctrine can be hard to keep straight without instruction. You need a teacher; someone who understands both the old world and the new. Luke is rigid and small minded, and ‘the man who never alters his opinion is like standing water and breeds reptiles of the mind.’”

“William Blake,” Rey interjects. “I used to read his poems in the library when I was younger. Are you a fan?”

“Of a sort. I respect the wisdom of those who came before me and their accomplishments, but I don’t just dwell on them. I like to think that, through my work, I finish what they started. But back to what I was saying before I-I just-“ He sighs heavily, but his eyes are still intense and wide. “I just wish I could take you away from this place. You don’t belong here.”

He’s so emphatic, but when she looks up, she can see the twisted desperation colouring his features. He’s  _very_  vulnerable, his emotions writhing so close to the surface that they’re threatening to bubble over at any second.

“Ben...”

“It’s just too late for so many people I care about. My mother and Luke, they’re going to die in this place, and my father...but you can still leave. You said it yourself; you’re not sure yet, not quite willing to commit to a lifestyle and framework that you don’t fully understand. And I want to make sure they don’t hide you away here, steal your life. You’re so special, Rey, more than you could ever know.”

Her breath catches when he reaches down to stroke her cheek, the tips of his fingers ghosting over her skin. It’s been so long since anyone’s touched her like this and she’s so tempted to lean in and savour the feeling of being admired and adored.

But now is not the time. Suppressing a sigh of disappointment, she reaches up and gently guides his hand down from her face. “Ben,” she says, her voice firm. “Maybe you should try to get some rest.”

His face falls and he nods. “Right. Of course.”

She can almost taste his disappointment, so she tempers it by reaching under the blanket to squeeze his fingers. He shudders at the contact, his breath puffing against her hair. “Should I stay?” she wonders aloud.

“Do you want to?” His voice shakes with anticipation.

“I don’t think I should want to...”

She lets the statement hang there for a moment, floating in the dark and cold silence of the chapel air. Ben’s so still, like he’s bracing himself for the moment she extricates herself from under his arm and runs out the door, leaving him alone with his demons, her blankets, and an empty bottle of cheap wine.

But that moment never comes.

Instead, Rey wiggles herself even further into his chest and lets out a deep sigh as if to let him know that, in this space at least for tonight, she’s here to stay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a whole lot of chit-chat and not much else for this chapter, but sometimes it's nice to have some downtime :) Sorry for the long wait, but now that I've gotten some one-shots out of the way (and work messiness finished) I should be able to get back onto my weekly schedule.
> 
> If you haven't already, I would love for all of you to check out my one-shot "Compliance" that I wrote for Take Your Fandom to Work Day. It's an Engineering AU and I think it turned out pretty okay. As well, if you're into Reylux, I'm betaing "Triumvirate" by Thelittlescrimshaw here on A03 and would love to have your feedback!


	13. Postulancy

He wakes with a brutal headache and an absolutely wicked need for coffee.

The sun is streaming through the stained glass windows, sending vibrant multicoloured beams of light across the worn wooden pews. There’s birds chirping just outside the stone walls, and he swears he can smell the fresh dewy scent of cut grass mixed with the chapel’s inherent mustiness.

He groans, bones creaking with every minuscule movement. It’s not the first time he’s had the misfortune to cry himself to sleep on this floor, but unlike every previous occasion, this time he’s not alone.

Rey stirs in his arms and lets out a little sigh of contentment, but doesn’t wake. He stares down at her, at her mussed hair and bare shoulder that’s managed to escape her pyjama top. His fingers twitch; he wants to touch her but doesn’t want to wake her and break this miraculous moment, this beautiful stillness before the storm.

“REY?”

“Shit,” he mutters as a fresh rush of adrenaline surges through his veins. There’s someone at the door already, rattling the old iron workings enough to wake up Rey, who freezes just as he’s easing her down onto the blanket.

“Ben? Wha-?”

“I-I have to go,” he whispers, wincing as she frowns, her sleep addled brain struggling to understand what’s going on.

He has barely a moment to snatch the empty wine bottle and dart down the edge of the chapel before a young nun shoves the door open and walks in. He eases open the dusty door to the bell tower with shaking fingers, and folds himself into the tiny crawlspace just as she discovers Rey and the pile of blankets. With practiced ease earned from multiple similar escapes, he shuts the door behind himself without a sound.

“ _REY! What’s going on? What happened to the window? Are you okay?_ ”  

There’s a shuffle of blankets against the floor. “ _Uh, yeah, I’m fine. T-there was a break in last night.”_

The nun, he vaguely remembers the name ‘Constance’ mentioned last night, gasps. _“Oh gosh! What happened?”_

_“I heard someone breaking the glass so I ran downstairs to check it out. When I got here, the person was gone, so I decided to stay the night to keep watch.”_

A pause. _“Why didn’t you wake me up? Or call the cops?”_

Ben holds his breath for a moment, but he clearly underestimate’s Rey’s ability to lie under pressure. “ _I didn’t want to worry you or wake you up with the sirens. I knew you were nervous about being here alone and I didn’t want to freak you out over nothing.”_

_“But you could have been hurt!”_

_“I can take care of myself. Now, do you think we should clean up the glass, or wait until everyone gets back?”_

Ben waits until he hears the tinkling sound of swept glass before he starts moving. Silently, he curses the seventy five pounds and eleven inches he’s gained since he last did this, and begins his slow, cumbersome ascent to the belfry. The wooden rungs _seem_ secure, but his steps are still super cautious, one hand grasping the rail at all times just in case of an emergency.

He feels like the Hunchback of Notre Dame when he finally emerges, all bent over and dusty. Narrowly avoiding the brass bells with his head, he hoists himself onto the roof and rests a hand on the rim of the cupola for support as he pulls off his shoes. He ties the laces together and flings them over his shoulder then, as quietly as possible, he slowly creeps across the roof in his sock feet.

It’s a small miracle that he manages to silently drop down onto the cobblestone path just as smoothly as he did when he was a teenager. He glances back at the chapel and, when he’s sure he sees methodical sweeping motions through the stained glass, pulls his shoes back on for the trek through the woods.

He arrives at the office just over an hour later, inwardly groaning when he sees that Hux has parked in his spot _again._ Gritting his teeth, he takes one of the ‘Reserved for Disabled and the Elderly’ stalls, throws his car into park, and slams the door shut, then bursts into the office, snarling, “You know, I _was_ having such a great day!”

Phasma and Hux stare up at him like they’ve just seen a ghost, Phasma’s mug of coffee paused mid-air in front of her mouth. “Y-you’re here?” she asks, as if she doesn’t quite trust what she’s seeing.

Ben cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “Yes?” he asks back, voice dripping with condescension. “Where else would I be on a Monday morning?”

“Your father committed suicide yesterday,” Hux snaps. “Most normal people would take a day or two off to process their feelings. Though, to be honest, I don’t know why we were expecting any modicum of emotional healthiness from you.” He glances out the window at Ben’s dirty black i8 in the parking lot. “Though it looks like you may have found another way to work off some of that frustration, at least. Aren’t you lucky that your uncle hasn’t discovered the frontage road yet?”

Phasma’s eyes go wide and dart back and forth between the two men. “What Hux is trying to say is-“

“Never mind,” Ben growls. The air sizzles with electricity as he stalks down the hall, walks into Hux’s office, picks up Millicent’s litterbox, and mechanically dumps the entire lot, shits and all, onto the other man’s desk.

Hux squeaks with rage. “How dare you-!”

Ben narrows his eyes. “Don’t fuck with me, Hux. Get your sorry excuse of a car out of my parking spot before I tear it apart with my bare _hands_!”

He stomps over to his own office and slams the door hard enough to rattle the cross and picture frames hanging on his wall. A moment passes and then the door opens a crack; just enough space for him to throw a squirming Millicent out of his office before slamming it shut again.

Phasma rolls her eyes and takes a long sip of coffee. “You are right though, Hux. I don’t know why we expected him to bottle up and process his feelings like a normal adult when he has the option of showing up here and abusing his staff instead.”

Hux, who ran down the hall to retrieve his precious cat, grumbles as he sits back down, his arms full of orange fluff. “Business as usual for Crylo Ren.”

“ _I HEARD THAT!”_

*

Luke looks like he’s aged another ten years when he makes it up the steps to the monastery. Rey and Constance greet him and the rest of their housemates, eager for news of the funeral and life outside of the old stone walls. Leia’s there too, her face drawn and tired, and she says barely a word before taking her bag up to a guest room and softly shutting the door.

“It’s been a long couple of days,” Luke explains, his eyes mournful as they follow his sister. “No one has felt it more than Leia.”

Rey thinks back to the broken shards of glass in the chapel and decides that his assumption isn’t quite correct. “How was the funeral?” she asks.

“Well attended,” he responds, his tone as dry as a desert. “Though the only guest that would have mattered didn’t bother showing up.”

“Ben?” she blurts out. “I-I mean...”

“Yes, Ben.” Luke bustles around the kitchen, filling the kettle, grabbing some mugs. “She didn’t say as much, but Leia was really counting on him.”

Rey pulls the milk out of the fridge and retrieves the sugar bowl from the cupboard. “Is he even allowed to go to the church anymore, since he was excommunicated?” She manages to get the unfamiliar word out without any error.

Smiling sadly, Luke turns the stove on then pulls up a seat on one of the wooden stools. “Of course he is. We encourage repentance above all things, and one of the first steps to repentance is reconciliation with God. Ben is more than welcome to attend any of our services.”

“Does he know that?”

He pauses as he sorts through tea bags. “Of course he does. He’s always known that he’s welcome back, but he has chosen his own path.”

“What if he thinks he’s too far gone? And before you say ‘of course he isn’t,’ explain why he doesn’t want to come back?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why are you so interested?”

Rey stares down at the island, fighting the blush that threatens to creep up her cheeks. “No reason, really. You just said that the director was really sad and that she missed him. I thought maybe it might be worth it to try and repair some of the bridges between all of you. After all, you are family.”

“Family can be complicated, Rey,” he comments. “One day you’ll learn that.”

They sit in heavy silence that is eventually punctuated by the shrill squeal of the kettle. Luke gets up from his stool and pulls the kettle from the element, bringing it over to the island where he and Rey have arranged a plethora of mugs and teabags. Almost mechanically, Rey tops each water-filled mug with a bag of tea after Luke fills it, one eye on the clock to make sure they don’t over-steep.

After exactly three minutes, she fishes the teabags out with a long handled teaspoon and adds a splash of milk and a pinch of sugar to each. With a final flourish, she finishes the batch and pushes one of the steaming mugs over to Luke.

He takes one sip and sighs. “You’ve really gotten the hang of this, haven’t you?”

“What can I say? I was probably born to work in a coffee shop, and you’ve gone and pulled me away from my true calling.”

“Well, I’m happy as long as it means I’ll get an excellent cup of tea out of the deal.” He takes another sip, then asks, “Rey. Are you happy here?”

She pauses, her hand halfway to the cupboard where the teabags belong. “Am I happy?” she repeats. “Sure, yeah, I’m quite happy. I have everything I need, and everyone here is so kind and wonderful.”

“Good.” Another sip. “Have you given any thought to committing yourself to the monastic life?”

“This again.” She softly closes the cupboard and sits back down on her stool. “Yeah, I guess I’ve thought about it. Why, is my time almost up?”

“No, of course not! It’s just Han’s- Han’s _death_ ,” he chokes out the word, “has made me realise some stuff about myself and my life, and my mission here on Earth. I’ve been convicted; I’m going to restart my mission, reinvigorate my ministry, and I believe it starts with you, Rey.”

She looks down, her finger tracing the whirls and lines on the worn wooden island as her chest clenches. It’s not that she wants to leave. She loves it here, has always loved it here, loves the building and the garden and the absolute permanence and history contained in the stone walls. “That’s a lot of pressure, Father Luke.”

“I know it is, but I promise you that it doesn’t have to start right away. Just look at Poe; he serves the ministry while still having his own job. Even your friend Finn is starting to contribute, after warming up to us a bit. A lot of people think that change is something big and scary and all encompassing, yet oftentimes people make their mark on the world through gentle faith. I promise that you can continue to ease yourself in; you won’t have to take the full gamut of vows and start wearing a habit, not yet at least.”

“I don’t know.” She smiles sheepishly. “Do you think I’m ready?”

He nods, his gaze soft and understanding. “If there’s anything I learned from my own journey, it’s that ‘readiness’ is a relative term. My mentor was very intense with his tutelage at first, but ended up telling me that my final steps were only my own. If you choose to stay with us, I can teach you, and Sister Mary can too, but only you can determine whether you are ready to take the final step and become one of us permanently.”

“So I’m not locked in then? If I decide to start the process of becoming a nun?”

“Rey, you’ll never be ‘locked in.’ Our Lord wants willing and cheerful servants, not indentured slaves. Sure, Apostle Paul said he was a ‘slave of Christ,’ but being a nun doesn’t mean we’re going to keep you here against your will, despite what popular culture tells you.” Father Luke raises an eyebrow and gulps his tea. “We’re not the bad guys.”

Rey purses her lips and stares down at the remaining mugs of tea. “I should call everyone over before these get cold.” She pushes a large, steaming, cream coloured one from the pack. “I made one for the Director. Could you take it to her?”

He shakes his head. “Why don’t you bring it up to her?”

Rey frowns. “Well, I just thought that you would want to because you’re her brother.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He lets out a hoarse chuckle that sounds like it’s sticking in his chest. “She’s probably sick of my face by now.”

“But-“

Luke leans back, about as much as one can lean back when sitting on a stool, and folds his arms. “Rey. Are you scared of my sister?”

“Scared?” No!” she responds a little too quickly.

“But you’ve never had an issue with her before. What’s changed?”

“Nothing! Well...” She pauses, her mind racing to the infamous night, _to her fingers laced through Ben’s hair, his arms wrapped around her waist, her face buried in the warmth of his chest, breathing in his scent._ “I just don’t know how to talk to people who are grieving, that’s all. I don’t want to accidentally say the wrong thing.”

Luke’s face softens. “Ah, I understand. I wouldn’t worry about it though, Leia’s made of tough stuff, and she loves you. She would love to have a chat with you, t think.”

Rey thinks of the older woman’s face as when she arrived earlier, and her heart breaks a little. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” He reaches over and pats her shoulder. “Don’t let her tea get cool now.”

She rolls her eyes, but gives him a small grin as she clasps the warm mug in her hands and heads over to the guest rooms. Her stomach churns with dread when she arrives at the nondescript door, one hand paused over it to knock.

Sure, Leia allegedly loves her now, but what would the Director think if it ever came out that Ben spent the night here with her instead of with his family? What would the Director think if she knew what Rey had felt when she had Ben sobbing in her arms, the sadness tinged with wonder, fascination, and power?

“ _I can feel you outside the door, you know.”_

Rey is jolted back to her senses, nearly losing the contents of the mug as her arm twitches. “Uh, it’s me, Director Organa. It’s Rey. I was wondering if you’d like some tea?”

_“I believe I told you to call me Leia ages ago. Please, come in.”_

Rey braces herself and opens the door. The room is sparse and spartan, with the standard uncomfortable chair in the corner and rough hewn chest of drawers against the wall. Leia is seated primly on the bed, her hands folded in her lap, and she gently pats the spot next to her.

“Please, make yourself at home.”

Closing the door behind her, Rey enters the room and hands the mug of tea to the other woman, who nods a ‘thank you.’ She hesitates before gingerly sitting down on the bed.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

Leia looks up and gives a sad smile, and Rey has to suppress the urge to gasp because those are _Ben’s_ eyes, the same tired, sad eyes that gazed up at her amid a sea of shattered glass, the same warm brown gone glassy with grief, the same tiny wrinkle sprung up between the brows. She’s almost always known that Leia is Ben’s mother, of course, but this is the first time that she can really see it.

“I feel awful,” Leia admits. Her normally deep voice has gone gravelly with fatigue. “I haven’t been able to sleep since it happened. I keep reliving the moment over and over, and worry over all of the ‘what ifs.’ What if I had shown up sooner? What if he had gone to the doctor earlier? What if-“ She takes in a deep breath. “What if Ben had been there? What if Han actually had someone to live for?”

“But he had you!” Rey insists. “You were someone for him to live for!”

“Apparently not.” Leia clears her throat and takes a drink of tea. “Of else we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?”

Rey’s face goes red. _Shit._ “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean...I just thought that...”

“I know what you thought, and I appreciate it.” The older women takes another sip of tea then places the mug on her side table. “But the fact is that Han was never my world, and I was never his. We both loved each other, of course, but he never truly gave up the market just like I never truly gave up my non-profit work. We coexisted and it was wonderful while it lasted, and then when Ben came along it was like something _clicked_. We finally had something together, something to bind us together forever.”

“And then he left,” Rey adds. The words sound hollow against her lips.

“And then he was _taken._ That Snoke saw an opportunity with Ben, saw someone talented and charismatic and touch by the Spirit, but too young and naive to recognize when he’s being taken advantage of. He took Ben and built this whole church around him like a prison, made him think that he’s doing God’s will when he’s really just filling Snoke’s pockets.”

Leia bunches her hands into fists at her side, but then sighs, the fight draining out of her instantly. “But enough about that. What’s done is done; what’s in the past is in the past.” She gives Rey a curious look. “So has Luke asked you yet?”

“Asked me what?”

“If you would like to stay. Has he asked you to stay yet?” She stares at Rey expectantly.

“Not those exact words, but yeah. He asked me if I liked it here and whether I would like to stay. He was quite low pressure and didn’t give me any sort of deadline, told me I could take my time and think still.”

“But he seemed different, right? More intent? I hope so, because he was practicing his little speech during the drive back from the city. It was driving me insane.”

“He was practicing? Why?” Rey wrinkles her nose.

Giving her a warm smile, Leia reaches over and squeezes Rey’s hand. “Because you’re special. We can see that in you, that beautiful light that has refused to be extinguished even through every trial and difficulty you’ve had to encounter. Ever since the moment I first saw you, I have felt that you’re touched by the Spirit.”

“Touched?”

“Set aside. Sanctified,” Leia clarifies, but only serves to make Rey more confused. “The Spirit moves in you. Now, I don’t claim to know everything about your relationship with God, of course, but I do know that he has great things in store for you.”

Rey squirms. “You think? Not just poking me full of holes?”

“Hardly.” Leia closes her eyes and sighs. “I see him using you in amazing ways. You could be such an amazing blessing here; tending the garden, meditating prayerfully, serving with Luke to feed the hungry and take care of those less fortunate. You could be an inspiration.”

Rey bites her lip, her brow furrowed. Sure, all of those things sound wonderful, and she does have an aching feeling in her gut that she’s been chosen for something, but serving soup and pulling weeds is nothing compared to what she experienced- what she _felt_ up on the mountainside with Ben. The transcendent sensation of detaching from herself and just experiencing peace and oneness and so many other emotions that she has no words to describe, _that_ is what she craves, and _that_ is what she feels called to.

But then she looks around the small room with its modest furniture and bare walls, and she feels a fullness in her heart. Maybe this is enough. Maybe this is what she’s meant for, a modest life here in the mountains where she can serve quietly and defend everything good and light in the world. Father Luke did say that some people make a mark with gentle faith, and Rey does want that. After a life of aching and loneliness, maybe gentle community is what she needs.

Leia squeezes her hand again, and both women sit in companionable silence.  

                                                                                                                                          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this is the last calm chapter before things start going down, so hang on!


	14. Carrot Season

It’s carrot season, apparently.

That’s what Sister Mary said this morning, after Rey had slept through the call to morning prayer and, subsequently, breakfast as well. “Fill yourself up,” she had commanded, throwing a ubiquitous bran muffin on the younger woman’s bed. “We’re going to be in the garden all day, and I don’t want you passing out on me.”

Rey groans, shoving her face back into her pillow. “I thought we already picked carrots.”

Sister Mary clucks her tongue. “That was thinning; this is harvesting. There’s a major difference.”

Poe and Finn show up about an hour into the festivities, each armed with a spade and a pair of gardening gloves. Poe’s in a good mood; he slaps Father Luke on the shoulder and envelopes Rey in a massive bear hug when she’s elbow deep in soil. Finn is less chipper, grumbling about wanting to sleep in on his day off, but even he manages a smile when he sees her.

There’s four beds of carrots lined up on the east side of the garden. Unlike all of the other vegetables, they’re planted directly in the ground, not a wood framed raised bed. Sister Mary explains that it makes the carrots more delicious and nutritious, but to Rey it just means that digging them out of the clay-rich soil is a back ache waiting to happen.

Finn is exceptionally disappointed that harvesting carrots in real life isn’t at all like it is on _Winnie the Pooh_. “Aw, come on!” he groans every single time he yanks on a leafy green top, only to have the orange root remain firmly in the ground.

“That’s what the spade is for, dumbass!” Poe chastises, which earns a glare from Sister Mary.

Rey, who has been wiggling the same carrot top for the past minute, gives it a mighty tug, and it emerges from the ground with a satisfying ‘ _pop!’_ “I did it!” she crows.

Finn shoots her a dirty look and she sticks out her tongue in return.

It’s about halfway between digging out the bed and scrubbing the carrots that she finally realises something:

She’s happy. Really, truly, genuinely happy, more so than she’s ever been in her entire life. It’s a lovely warm day which, in the past, would have meant a fight for shade and clean water, but now means sunhats, lemonade, and a new burst of freckles across her face. Poe is covertly dropping dirt down Finn’s back, and Sisters Constance and Martha are busy making up stories for all of the gnarled and deformed carrots they’ve found. Even Leia is smiling and laughing, teasing a wild hare with a shock of leafy carrot greens while Father Luke urges her on. 

Ever observant, Finn notices her pensive stare and walks over, brushing soil from the back of his neck. “How’re you doing, Rey? Still feeling fine? You need anything?”

“You’re such a nurse,” she teases.  “But yeah, I feel fine. More than fine, I actually feel...happy.”

He laughs. “It’s a weird feeling, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah it is. How about you?”

He smiles sheepishly. “I’m actually really happy too. Work has been great, steady but not too stressful, and I’ve also been running into Poe a lot more too around the hospital. He says that he’s getting a lot more clients that haven’t been discharged yet, so that’s been really awesome, for me at least.”

Rey glances over Finn’s shoulder at Poe, who is staring at both of them with a strange expression on his face. “Huh. Well, that must be really nice to be able to hang out more? You guys see each other after work too?”

 “Yeah, sometimes. There’s a Starbucks across the street that we go to if he gets off the same time I do, which is pretty often. He drinks the weirdest stuff sometimes...did you know there’s a smoothie thing you can get that’s green?”

“No, I didn’t.” She smiles at Poe, who shakes his head and looks away. “Change of topic...do you think I should stay here at the monastery? Permanently?”

Finn looks shocked, like he’s been slapped right across the face. “What?”

She snorts. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you didn’t know this was coming for me.”

“Is that what this has been about? You telling me about your happiness? You’re about to make this huge decision, and you’re springing it on me when I don’t even have my legal pad?”

“I guess I should have warned you.” Soberly, Rey puts down her handful of carrots and faces him with a serious stare. “But seriously, what do you think? Should I do it? Father Luke says that I still wouldn’t be locked in forever.”

“Of course not. This is a monastery, not Hotel California. But it’s still a serious decision.”

“I know that.”

Finn takes in a deep gulp of air. “You know what? I think it’s a great idea.”

She frowns. “Really?”

“Really. These are good people, Rey. Good, honest people that have treated you well, and treat other people well too. Luke and Leia aren’t like most religious folk I’ve met; they seem honest and hardworking, and not just in it to screw people over. And-“

He pauses, wincing.

“It’s okay, Finn.” Rey nods. “You can say it.”

“Where else are you going to go? Really? Like, I’d offer my place, but it’s a bachelor suite on the bad side of town, and I snore like a freight train. You’ve got your own bed here, food, a garden, a view. It’s everything you need or could really ever want.”

“Well, this is a change from your previous opinion. You were a bit more reluctant last time we had this conversation.”

He shrugs. “There are worse things in life than living in a safe, warm, comfortable home surrounded by people who are looking out for you. Sure, Sister Mary can be a bit of a cow sometimes, but she means well, and everyone else loves you.”

“Okay then.” Rey picks up her bunch of carrots and scrubs the dirt off with renewed vigour. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you again for everything, Finn.”

“It’s no problem at all.”

She waits until after every last carrot is pulled, scrubbed, and packaged before she sheepishly approaches the Skywalker twins. They’re sitting at the kitchen island, huddled together as usual, muttering something about preparing for the rutabagas when she blurts out, “I want to stay.”

As one, Luke and Leia look up from their mugs of tea, identical surprised expressions on their faces. Leia is first to respond, as usual. “You what?”

“I want to stay. Here. At the monastery.”

Father Luke’s face breaks into an enormous grin. He slides off of his stool and envelops Rey in a massive hug, burying her in his musty black robes. “I’m so happy to hear that,” he says, his voice scratchier than usual. “I’ve been praying for this for weeks.”

Rey squeezes him back. Leia’s patting her on the shoulder as well, then suddenly the older woman throws her arms around the both of them. “Group hug!”

“Group hug?” Rey’s voice is muffled into Luke’s collar. “I’ve never had a group hug before.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he comments. “Get used to it.”

*

“Someone left a gift for you,” Phasma announces dryly as soon as the service is over.

Ben pauses on the way to his office, his tie halfway off. “Oh. Is it flowers again? Someone’s belated condolences in the form of tacky, allergy inducing monstrosities?”

“Oh, not quite that predictable,” Hux pipes up from his office. “Guess again.”

Ben begins to feel his blood pressure raise. “I don’t have time for any stupid games, Hux, so if it’s a bag of your cat’s shits, kindly remove it before I have to remove you.”

“Oh, if only it were such a thoughtful gift.” The other man follows Ben down the hall and into his study. Bracing himself, he opens the door and prepares for the worst, perhaps some hate mail or another  envelope of used panties.

“Oh.” 

It’s a basket of carrots, adorned with a simple card that says ‘I Miss You’ in a scrolling font. Hux pops up to view his reaction, and is clearly underwhelmed.

“You were expecting this? Seriously, I didn’t know you gave good enough head for Bugs Bunny himself to share some of his secret stash.”

“It’s from my mother,” Ben says through clenched teeth, loath to admit he even remembers the occasion. “It’s carrot season at the monastery. She’s trying to be cute.”

“Carrot season.” Hux’s face scrunches. “Sounds awful.”

“It is, unless you like being elbow deep in wet mud and dirty vegetables.”

“Just another Saturday night for you, I suppose.”

Ben slumps down in his chair and grabs the card, but doesn’t open it. Instead, he just stares at the front of it, those three words taunting him with their inane sentimentality.

“I miss you.” He chokes them out like they’re poison. “What’s this about? What’s her game?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Phasma comments, appearing silently at the doorway like an overgrown silver cat. “Maybe she’s devastated by the recent loss of a loved one and wants to reach out to her estranged family members? But that’s just a guess, of course.”

There’s a light chirping noise, prompting Hux to check his phone. He lets out a deep sigh. “Just got word from the tellers. Giving is down four percent this week. Snoke is concerned, says it’s about time for another ‘special’ service.”

“Another?” Phasma asks, concerned. “But we just had one barely a month ago.”

“I don’t make the rules, I just follow them.” He flicks a thumb at Ben. “As long as Mister Prize Pony here can still spew nonsense and send the ladies into fits, we’re going to have special services. It’s what brings the people back and makes them cough up the cash.”

“But Kylo Ren is attending a book signing right after next week’s service. We won’t have enough time to run late, and you know how those services _always_ run late.”

“Well then we’ll do it the week after. It’ll give us more time for promo anyway, and we’ll be able to get the interns out on the street with flyers.” Hux starts texting furiously. “How does ‘Fall Into Grace?’ sound? I know it’s not quite Fall yet, but I think it’s close enough that the pun will stick.”

“’Fall Into Grace.’ It sounds familiar; are you sure you didn’t use it last year?”

“I’m very sure. We may have used it several years past, but in that case it can be ‘Fall Into Grace 2: Revival,’ which is a bit more peppy anyways, don’t you think?”

“Oh definitely.” Now Phasma is on her phone as well, checking Ben’s calendar. “Two weeks from today is free. I can call Slip and get him to mock up some poster ideas and start spreading the word on social media.”

Ben frowns, finally able to tear his eyes away from his mother’s card. “Do I not get a say about this blessed event?”

“Frankly, no.” Hux turns back to his phone and taps in a long text, his fingers flying furiously over the screen. There’s a pause, and then the gentle chime of a reply. “Snoke is wondering what your issue is with the service. He says he can move his visit up if you’re struggling.”

Ducking his head down, Ben bites his lip. “No, not struggling at all,” he mumbles through clenched teeth.

The phone in Phasma’s hand, _Ben’s_ phone, starts vibrating madly. Hux looks down at his own screen and announces, “It’s Snoke. Put him on speaker.”

Phasma obeys the order, placing the phone delicately down on the desk as Ben makes out a choked, “Hello?”

“ _Kylo.”_

The voice is deep and gravelly, edged with a tinge of cloying sweetness. Ben stiffens and sits up straighter in his chair. “Yes, Superintendant?”

 _“_ _Your reluctance to contribute your gifts is very disappointing. Have you lost your calling?”_

“No, not at all, I just-“

“ _Don’t try to placate your Father’s anger with excuses. You know he will only accept the complete and utter submission of your will. Why are you not submitting, Kylo? Are you not praying enough?”_

“No, no, I’m praying every-“

_“Your struggles stem from your inability to completely surrender yourself to his complete and perfect plan. You’ve always tried so hard to control things and prioritize yourself when you should be putting Him first. Do you know why you are constantly failing? Why stress and anxiety still plague you? Why nothing good ever seems to happen in your life?”_

He knows the answer, but that’s not really the point of this exercise. “No, sir.”

_“It’s your complete and utter lack of faith in God’s holiness. Frankly, I find your lack of faith disturbing. The very idea that you would try and prevent this service because of your own fallen selfishness is sickening.”_

Ben says nothing. He can feel Phasma and Hux staring at him, but he can’t quite bring himself to meet their eyes just yet.

“ _Spend the next couple of days in prayerful meditation and then get back to me. God has blessed you with amazing gifts, Ben, gifts other men would die for. Don’t waste them on yourself.”_

The call ends with an abrupt click.

Hux raises his eyebrows. “Well, then.”

Phasma plucks Director Organa’s greeting card from the desktop with nimble fingers. “On that note, let’s read something nice from your mother. Shall we?”

Ben just glowers silently, his ears burning red with humiliation.

“’Dear Ben,’” she recites, her cool voice cutting through the tension in the office like a hot knife through butter. “’I hope this care finds you well. I’ve been thinking of you a lot lately, what with everything that’s happened, and I just want to make sure that you know you’re always welcome back home, no matter the circumstances. You will always have a home here.’”

“Well isn’t that sweet,” Hux comments.

“Just wait, it gets better. ‘I remember how much you used to love carrot season at the monastery, so I’ve sent some of our best picks from this year’s harvest. We had quite a crew last week. Poe and his friend came, and Rey helped out quite a lot as well. She’s such a sweet girl. Exciting news, she’s actually decided to start her vows tonight! Your uncle is understandably quite thrill-“

“What.”

Phasma looks up from the card. Her face goes white when she sees Ben’s, pale and shocked and livid.

“T-that’s just what it says. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“No one is shooting anyone here,” Hux sneers. “He’s just upset because he’s about to lose his prize plaything to a lifetime of indentured servitude.”

“She’s not a plaything,” Ben snaps.

“Either way, I honestly don’t understand why you’re so mad. This probably won’t change anything with your little ‘arrangement.’ If she’s sleeping with you now, taking vows won’t change anything.”

“She’s not sleeping with me.”

The redhead’s mouth twists into a surprised grimace. “She’s not? Then why on Earth are you losing it right now?”

Ben takes in a deep breath, and exhales harshly through his teeth.

He doesn’t know why he’s so angry.

No.

He _does_ know why he’s angry, why he feels like driving up to the monastery and burning it to the ground, but he can’t admit it, not even to himself, and especially not to some idiot like Hux.

“You love her.”

Both men whip their heads up to look at Phasma, who is staring at Ben critically with a small smirk on her lips. “You love the little homeless girl.”

“I-I _don’t_?” he posits awkwardly, hopelessly fighting the flush that’s creeping up his cheeks.

Hux rolls his eyes. “You sound very convincing. But seriously, you don’t actually think you _love_ her, do you? What are you, a thirteen year old girl?”

Ben just sits there, his heart thumping so hard he’s surprised his comrades don’t hear it.

He _loves_ her. As much as he has ever loved anything before, and then some.

It takes him only two minutes to jump up from his desk, car keys in one hand and a carrot in the other.

*

“I know you said I didn’t need to wear a habit, but could I? At least for today, if it’s allowed? I want to know what I’m getting in to, fashion wise.”

Sister Mary gives Rey a rare smile, and pulls a long, white robe from out of her closet. “Of course you can, dear. You can wear one any time now.”

It’s a bit too long and stained on the hem, but it’s also warm and soft against her skin. Rey thinks of the women that have worn it before her, women that have dedicated their lives to protecting others and serving God. Even a month ago, she never would have considered that one day she would count herself among them, but here she is.

“I’m not quite Mother Theresa,” she admits to Sister Mary’s retreating back. “But I think I’ll do okay.”

“He takes us all, as long as we have quick hands and willing hearts.” The older women nods. “And you’ve proven to have both.”

There had been a formal announcement at the basilica that morning, but Father Luke had very blatantly informed the parish that Rey’s vows would happen quietly and privately. Coupled with his stern, icy stare, the parishioners had gotten the point, and reserved their congratulations to a couple of polite handshakes and far off smiles. There was no touching or crowding, and for that Rey was extremely grateful.

Poe and Finn were coming, of course. While not an official ceremony, per say, Leia was making a little event of it. She was already down in the kitchen baking some very unhealthy cinnamon buns from the smell of it, and Rey’s stomach growls even though she had eaten just over an hour ago.

She glances up at the clock. Thirty minutes until show time.

She bites her lip.

_Ben. I need to tell Ben._

Shaking her head, she rushes out of her room and out the door. Flying past the sun-kissed pumpkin patch and withered potatoes, she charges down the familiar gravel path to the forest. The sun is still high in the sky when she reaches the clearing, and its bright beams hit her on the face, bathing her in warmth.

_It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay._

She remembers watching an old movie in the library when she was a child. It was called _Runaway Bride_ , and she vividly recalls her feelings of frustration when the protagonist developed ‘cold feet’ and ran away from her chances at happiness. Three men, each with a home, job, and a heart that loved her, and the heroine would still leave, drawn to the freedom of some other possibility.

And here she is now, clothed in white, heart thumping at the possibility of committing to people that have sworn to protect her.

“What is my problem?” she mutters to herself, but she knows. Deep down, she knows the one thing she would be giving up, the one freedom that seems insurmountable.

“REY!”

Speak of the devil.

“Ben! What are you doing here?”

“What am _I_ doing _here?_ ” Pushing through the trees, he stares at her, head to toe. His eyes are wild, and he has leaves and tiny bits of sticks in his hair. “What are you doing, _period?_  What’s this? I thought you were done playing dress up?”

“It’s not dress up, I-“

“You’re taking the vows. That’s why that nurse and Poe Dameron are here today, isn’t it? You’ve decided to stay here and become their slave.”

Her jaw drops. “Their slave? That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

He gestures to her long gown and head covering. “What do you call this?”

“Excuse me? I _chose_ to wear this, just like how I chose to come here and am now choosing to stay. I don’t like what you’re insinuating here, Ben! There’s nothing suspicious going on; they’re not keeping me against my will.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Don’t make me say it. You know that there’s no way in your right mind that you would actually decide to stay here out of your own free will.”

“Why?” she counters, arms folded across her chest. “Why shouldn’t I commit to this cause, to these people who have treated me so well? I wasn’t raised like you, Ben; I didn’t have food and money and a house full of family that loved me. I didn’t have the luxury to make choices like you, and I _still_ don’t.”

He doesn’t respond,

“Luke and Leia treat me like family!”

“They treat you _better_ than family, trust me.”

“Oh, _please._ Just because you chose to abandon your family doesn’t mean I have to!”

He recoils, his lips curling into a sneer. “How-“

“Don’t even start with me, Ben. We’ve been through all of this before.”

“Fine.” He takes a couple of deep breaths, calming himself until his voice stops wavering. “How can you commit your life to something that you’ve only known about for a couple months? How can you be sure? You can’t know so soon.”

She shrugs and gives him an open, honest look. “You’re right, I’m not sure, and this would mean moving one step closer to a huge decision, but I can’t let it pass by! I can’t go back to my old life. Here I have a home, a job, a sense of purpose, people that care about me and want to see me succeed. Any other decision could leave me with nothing!”

“What about your freedom, Rey? What does your freedom mean to you?”

She scoffs. “I’ve had freedom, ultimate freedom. No rules, no parents, nothing to tie me down, and it was the worst experience ever. Freedom comes with loneliness and uncertainty. My freedom is nothing compared to the security I have at Ahch-To.”

He rolls his eyes, his hands balling into tense fists as he stalks in front of her. “I still don’t understand how you can be willing to give up so much! You’re just afraid, Rey!”

She lets out a wild chuckle. “I _know_ I am! I’m _scared_ , Ben! I’ve never been more scared in my life! I’m scared that I’m going to regret everything later on, and I’m scared that I’m going to miss out on so much. But do you know what scares me the most?”

“I’m so scared that any moment now Leia and Luke are going to come to their senses and realise that I’m just a beaten up scavenger girl from the junkyard , and they’re going to throw me back out on the street. I’m afraid of losing this life, this chance at happiness...so that’s why I have to do this. I have to commit.”

“No you don’t!” Ben yells. “Don’t just run away from your fear; _embrace_ it! Command it! If you’re so scared of leaving that you’re willing to throw your life away, you need to re-examine your priorities! Second Timothy one verse seven tells us ‘ _God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of_ power and love!’ Power and love, Rey! Does choosing to stay here make you feel powerful? Or does it make you feel _safe_?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Rey stomps up to him, her brow furrowed with rage.“I feel valued here. I feel like I can make a difference. Where else can I find this?”

Ben opens his mouth to respond, but she silences him with an outstretched hand. “I know you’re going to say the _First Order_ , but I honestly don’t think it would be any better for me there. How would all of your upper-middle class members respond to an unemployed homeless girl with stigmata?” She gestures to the grounds, to the forest, and the beautiful open sky around them. “I have everything I need here. What more could the First Order offer?”

He pauses his pacing and slowly turns to face her, his face mournful. “Me?” he wonders, his voice strangely hoarse. “You would have me.”

The fight drains from her veins when she sees his broken yet hopeful face. It’s everything she’s dreamt and feared together in one overwhelming second. The world stops for a moment around them; even the birds stop chirping, and the only thing Rey hears is the sound of her own pounding heart.

Their eyes lock.

“No, Ben, please don’t.”

He’s in front of her instantly, not touching her but close enough for her to feel the tension rolling off of him in waves. “Why not? Don’t you feel it too, Rey? We’re destined to be together.”

She’s shaking her head. “No, no, no, that’s not _fair_ Ben. You can’t just say stuff like that. It wasn’t right before, and it’s not right now.”

“I’m not just _saying_ it!” He closes his eyes and moans in frustration.

“Yes you are, Ben!” She spits his name like a curse, grounding herself. She can’t be swept away, not now when she’s so close to a real life that she can be proud of. A real bed with warm delicious food every night. Old Rey would kill her for even _thinking_ of letting that go.

He’s even closer now, striding forward until they’re almost nose to nose, his breath ghosting over her skin. The crunch of the leaves under his feet is the one thing that helps her keep her senses. “It’s not fair,” she repeats, quieter, eyes still locked on his. “You’re asking me to give up everything...for what? A promise?”

“It’s so much more than that, I swear,” he breathes. His eyes flash with frightening intensity.

“But how can it be? You’ve only known me for a little while. We’ve been meeting together for what, a month? Two? I don’t even know your birthday, and you don’t even know my favourite colour.”

“Green,” he answers instantly. “Your favourite colour is green. I can see it in your eyes when you stare at the forest and smell the grass. And my birthday is-”

“Stop it. You know what I mean. You judged me for wanting to commit to the church, but now you’re saying I should commit to you?” She shakes her head, sending the veil fluttering out behind her. “How does that make sense?”

“It’s not the same at all. We belong together, Rey, I can feel it.” His brow is knit with concern and he holds out a hand to her, pleading. “Please choose me. This is the ultimate answer and compromise to your situation. You don’t have to leave the faith, but you can still have your freedom.”

“Freedom?” She looks at him like he’s grown a third eyeball. “You know I don’t care about that. But even then, this isn’t freedom and this isn’t compromise. This goes only one way- me to you. That’s not compromise, that’s me sacrificing my future for whatever this is. Or what it could be.”

“No. Thinking of you all alone in that monastery for the rest of your life...that would be the sacrifice. You’re mine, Rey.” His words send a thrill down her spine. “I am yours and you are mine.”

They stand in silence, rooted to the spot, their eyes intertwined in an impassive stare. Rey’s head is swimming; it’s all been too much, too soon, and far too close to being out of time.

“Fine.” She stands her ground and grits her teeth. “I’m tired of arguing about this. If I am truly yours, why don’t you show me?”

The tension snaps as he lets out a fierce growl and encircles her with his large frame, one arm around her waist and the other snaking into her hair. She groans when he digs his blunt nails into her scalp and hip. Bending down, he lowers his face until their noses touch, and then stops, his breath catching in his throat.

Rey is confused until she notices that he’s _shaking_ , his entire body trembling against her small frame. It’s so easy to forget that she’s the experienced one in their relationship, his religious childhood and residual Catholic guilt a powerful motivator for self-imposed abstinence. She contemplates letting him hang there, a millimetre away from her lips, but in the end decides that it’s too cruel for both of them. After all, what harm could be done with a kiss?

It ends up being so much more.

The moment their lips touch, Ben groans into her mouth and tightens his grip on her hip. His physical reaction is instantaneous; Rey swears she can _feel_ the blush blooming across his face, and she can _certainly_ feel him growing hard against her belly.

The kiss isn’t clean and perfect, but it’s also unlike anything she’s ever experienced before. It’s purely _Ben,_ the way his lips slide from her mouth to pepper her jaw with kisses, the way his nose bumps against hers when they slip out of sync, and the amazing passion behind it all.

He pulls back to stare at her and she finds it hard not to stare back at him. His entire face is flushed, pupils are blown wide, and his already plush lips are swollen.

“I-“

She doesn’t even let him finish his thought before her lips are on his again, claiming his mouth with an intensity that surprises even her. He freezes when she teasingly traces the seam of his mouth with her tongue, so she stops and pulls away to ask, “Ben, have you never kissed anyone before?”

“I- _yes,_ of course I have,” he stutters. “I’ve kissed people before.”

She smiles at him, a bright beautiful smile that practically radiates warmth onto his blushing face. “Ben. Your mother doesn’t count.”

“My mother? You little-“

Her laugh is smothered by his lips pressing against hers, more insistent and passionate than before.  Her entire body thrums with pleasure, basking in the warm feeling of being complete and whole and treasured. She moans as his fingers thread into her hair, as he tugs away the habit to nuzzle at her neck, as his hands clench firmly around her waist, nails digging into the pure white fabric.

“I just-I just _want-_ “ he gasps against her mouth. She responds with a drag of her tongue against his and is rewarded by a groan that rumbles deep in his chest.

There’s a feeling building within her, a throbbing desperation that makes her aware of how utterly vulnerable she is to this man in front of her. It’s not like every other time, where she would give herself up to survive, for matches or a tin of food. For him, she would surrender everything just to see him smile.

 _No,_ her brain hisses. _You know better than this._

Shaking her head, she pulls back abruptly. He’s startled, but recovers quickly, his face red and grinning.

She tries to match his dazzling smile, but finds that she simply _can’t._

Something inside of her is still holding back, that resilient, practical part of her psyche that kept her alive for all of those years in the junkyard. She trusts him, she really does, but words and intentions and stolen kisses are no match for the reality of rough spun blankets and solid stone walls; for evening hymns and moist bran muffins. And, above all else, when she’s around him, she can’t trust herself.

“I can’t,” she whispers, her voice barely a breath in the wind.

He notices almost instantly and flinches. “Rey...we _can_ be together. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

“But-“

“But _nothing!_ I have faith, Rey! I have faith that God will look after us! If he is for us, who can be against us? Everything has brought us to this moment, this time, and I believe that it’s fate. Providence. God’s divine will telling us that this is all part of his plan!”

Even though she’s in a open clearing, Rey still feels like there are walls closing in all around her. She slowly backs away even though her entire body is screaming for him, for the warmth of his grasp and the tenderness of his lips. “I-I can’t risk it. I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t run this time, for part of her hopes, _wishes,_ that he’ll come running after her. Pull her into his arms, brand her with another blistering kiss, plead with her until his eyes run with tears.

But instead he backs away too, just watches her as she retreats back into the trees, a blank look on his face. It’s not until she’s back on the monastery’s mosaic courtyard that she hears one long, anguished, keening wail, so loud it sends the birds fluttering from their perches.

She spots a face in the clouded glass of the chapel window. It’s Leia, her brown eyes steady and understanding, even as Rey bursts through the door, trembling with the effort of holding back her sobs.

*

_Rey. What is it that you seek?_

I seek the unconditional blessing of God our Father, and the sacred community of my Brother and Sisters in Christ.

_Rey. What is it that you believe?_

I believe in God the Father Almighty, creator of Heaven and Earth.  
I believe in Jesus Christ his only begotten Son, our Lord.  
Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary  
Suffered under Pontius Pilot, was crucified, died, and was buried.  
  
He descended into hell;  
The third day He rose again from the dead.  
He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of God the Father Almighty  
From thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Spirit,  
The Holy Catholic Church,  
The communion of Saints,  
The forgiveness of sins,  
The resurrection of the body,  
And life everlasting.

_Amen. Thanks be to God. First John One verse seven tells us “If we walk in the Light, as He is in the Light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.” Do you vow to consecrate your life to His holy Light?_

Yes, Reverend Father, with the aid of my Brother and Sisters.

_Do you wish by obedience, stability, and the conversion of life, to advance in your knowledge of our Lord’s teachings until death?_

Yes, Reverend Father, with the aid of my Brother and Sisters.

_For the sake of the kingdom of God, in imitation of Christ and his Virgin Mother Mary, do you wish to be free for God alone, in solitude and silence, in a life of continual prayer and joyful penitence?_

Yes, Reverend Father, with the aid of my Brother and Sisters.

_May he who began a good work in you continue it to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. Amen._

Amen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me.


	15. Interlude

She’s doesn’t regret her decision. Not for the first couple weeks, at least.

It’s just the little things that get her, like when she asks why they say the Vespers at a certain time and Luke responds with “That’s just the way.” Her brain screams “That’s not a real answer!” like a petulant child, but her mouth responds with “Of course.” Of course the men and women must be kept separate, and of course nuns and priests must be celibate, and of course she can’t go into town on her own.

“Everything we do here is for a reason, Rey,” Father Luke cautions her one morning. “Our traditions have been honed over centuries. Never let your mind trick you into thinking you know better than all of the brothers and sisters that came before you.”

Praying the rosary has been an extra special penance, and she feels like her fingers have been rubbed raw with the effort of sliding over every bead and link, reciting the ancient words in a tone that she hopes isn’t too monotonous.  She knows it’s strange, but she’s almost running out of things to pray about, so she just recites the names of every single person she remember from her life before.

_Lorna. Old Bill. Gary. Sue Ann. Young Bill._

Her brain stutters every time she gets to Unkar’s name. The very thought of him fills her mind with _him,_ with his fleshy arms and course accent. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in forgiveness for him, it’s just still too soon for her to wrap her mind around the fact that he may actually be gone from her life, forever.

At lease the sisters have been some sort of distraction. Since her initial night of vows, Sister Mary has been kinder and gentler to Rey, whether she’s been instructing her on praying, singing, or proper habit-wearing. The younger sisters have also been more than helpful and friendly, especially Constance, who has definitely been living up to her name.

“What do you think you’ll pick as your new name?” she wonders one night, as she looks at Rey from the library couch.

Rey glances up from the copy of _Mere Christianity_ and frowns. “I honestly haven’t given it much thought. What would you suggest?”

“I think Catherine would be a good one, or Theresa. They’re both strong and capable, like you.”

“I don’t know.” Rey puts the book down and draws up her legs, hugging her knees close to her chest. “I mean, ‘Rey’ isn’t exactly my real name, at least I don’t think it is, so I don’t know why I would be attached to it. But it seems wrong to take another name, like I’m giving up a part of myself.”

Constance nods. “It’s supposed to feel like that. That’s why it’s one of the final steps; where you renounce your old self and fully dedicate to Him.”

“What was your old name?” Rey asks. “Who were you before you were ‘Sister Constance’?”

The other woman blushes. “Oh, no one really. I was just a normal girl, part of a normal family, until my school got a visit from Sister Anna at a Career Fair. She’s not here at the monastery any more, but apparently she used to live here back when Father Luke’s father lived here. Back before,” her voice falters, “all of _that_ happened.”

“Father Luke’s father lived here?” Rey’s brow wrinkles. “I knew he used to be devout, but I had no idea.”

“Yeah. He had been Sister Anna’s mentor back in the day. She’s a really amazing lady, kind of short with darker skin and these really cool dreads in white and grey. She was talking about dedication and dedicating one’s life to a cause instead of being processed and spit out by the capitalist government socio-political complex.”

“So you came here?”

“So I came here.” Sister Constance gestures to the library walls around them. “It sounded alright when she spoke about it, and it’s not like my absent mother or workaholic father really cared what I did with my life, so that how I got here.”

“That’s awful.” Rey feels her belly grow heavy with the realisation that she’s not really alone, that there’s many souls in her life who have felt the bitter sting of abandonment, just in different forms.

“My name was Brittany,” Constance admits after several moments of silence. “Brittany McTavish. I had an older sister and two younger brothers. My father ran a sports store and my mother sold Tupperware. They weren’t disappointed in me, but I could tell that I definitely wasn’t following any sort of plan that they had imagined in their heads. I was a straight-A student until senior year, where I fell in love with a stupid jock named Ryan and destroyed any chance I had of getting into college.”

Rey savours the details, relishes how each glimpse into Sister Constance’s life unravels a bit of the puzzle of her mind. The other girl keeps sharing, adding little stories, anecdotes, memories, and with each she opens up more, smiling and laughing. Rey squeezes her knees even more and imagines a life where she could have hung out at the mall, laughing and whispering about some boy or trying on clothes just because. A life where she didn’t have to worry about surviving, only thriving.

Now that she’s more committed, the sisters have been a lot more open with their questions about her past. She tries not to share too much; her life already resembles a tabloid sometimes, but she gives up a bit, just enough to foster connections with her housemates.

However, living in a monastery can only afford her so many secrets. She’s guarded by nature, but a big part of her does want to believe, does want to make something of whatever situation she’s been given, so eventually it all comes out in Confession.

The first time, like all first times, is really awkward, with Rey on one side and Father Luke next to her. She can hear him breathing through the partition and, even though he said there was no pressure, the air in the tiny box is heavy with expectation.

“There’s just so much,” she whispers. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start wherever is most comfortable for you,” he responds. “And remember that God has seen all, my child.”

The endearment makes her belly twist into uncomfortable knots.

So she tells him of sleepless, hungry nights, of drugs and violence and even sex, with her cheeks burning but her head held high. She tells him about the way her stomach gnawed when she gave herself to a forty five year old heroin dealer, the way her fingers dipped into his discarded underwear while he was still on top of her, the way she could snatch a baggie between her fingertips so effortlessly without waking him.

She tells him of the time there was a storm that lasted for three days, how she huddled in an old tractor tire for warmth, how she struck an old woman on the head with a rock for a torn end of a ratty blanket.

And she tells him of nightmare, screaming, crying, wailing, familiar faces torn away in a sea of tears and car exhaust. The feeling of flabbly arms on young skin, of a throat torn raw from screeching, of living for almost fifteen years with a heart so broken, it seems almost impossible to mend.

After every story, she expects him to recoil and tell her to leave. She peers through her eyelashes at the filigreed screen separating her from the old priest. His eyes are still clear and, no matter how drawn and sad he looks, he greets her with a smile and a hug after it’s all done.

She tells him about everything. About her past, her fears, her hopes, everything but one glaring omission.

Ben.

He’s the hole in her story. When she confesses her sadness and her hopelessness, he’s the reason that never leaves her lips. He’s the shock of black hair at the edge of her vision when she wanders the forest in the morning.  He’s the voice in the wind when she’s outside harvesting squashes and braiding onion tops.

And the worst and most insidious of all, he’s the memory that leaves her wanting and aching late at night, when she’s alone in her bed and staring at the ceiling. She thinks of the way he groaned against her, like she was the most delicious thing in the world, and her hand darts under her quilt, trailing down her belly until her fingers reach her core.

At first she was reluctant to even think about touching herself in the monastery. After all, it’s God’s house, and God is always watching. However, post-vows and post-Ben, so many things have changed, and she figures that, if she’s really going to live her life alone within these chilled stone walls for the rest of her years, she might as well have some time for herself.

Her eyes press shut as her middle finger strokes her folds, and she imagines Ben’s face, sheepish and blushing above her. He’s so assertive and quick to anger normally, so when she thinks of him flustered and stammering in the bedroom, her heart skips and her toes curl. She imagines how wide his eyes will get when he feels inside her for the first time, how his breath will catch in his throat as he strokes her walls. She imagines muffled moans in her neck as she pants against his ear and catches his earlobe between her teeth, letting it slowly drag against her tongue as he writhes.

Quickening her pace, she pictures him struggling to get out of his pants as she squirms beneath him, how he’ll curse under his breath and glare when she laughs. She pictures his bangs falling in his eyes as he looms over and pins her to the bed between his legs, how he’ll roll his eyes and toss his head until she guides the errant strands out of the way with a stroke of her hand.

The bed creaks as her back arches, her mind filled with images of Ben easing himself up her body on his knees until his cock brushes against her lips. She’ll take him in and tease him first, her tongue tracing the bumps and ridges until he whines above her, begging for more. Then she’ll finally touch him, drag her nails down his back and grip his ass with firm hands, guiding his thrusts into her warm and willing mouth as he braces himself against the wall.

His already flushed face burns deeper when he’s close. He chews at his lip, his eyebrows twitching until his mouth drops open and he jerks once, twice, filling her with a rush of warm, slightly bitter liquid that dribbles down her chin with the force of it. Sure, it’s not the most comfortable or delicious sensation, but the image of him wrecked and trembling above her is more than worth any fantasy discomfort.

She’s always silent when she comes, no matter how hard, her eyes screwed shut as she replays the scene over and over again, her fingers working furiously below the blanket. She cleans herself up as much as she can, and then tries to harness the jelly-like feeling in her muscles into a good night’s sleep, her body mindful of the empty space in her bed and the distinct lack of Ben in her life.

She hasn’t cried about it, at least not yet, and that’s as good a victory as any.

*

Strangely enough, their temporary exodus comes at the hands of Constance, not Rey.

“I want to go to Sephora,” she confesses in the garden one day as they hack apart some squashes for roasting. “They have a new Naked palette in stock, and I’m absolutely dying to try it.”

Rey, her nose wrinkled at the strange, primal scent of the squash, frowns. “Are we allowed to go to Sephora, or even wear makeup, for that matter?”

“Oh, so you think that Sister Mary just wakes up looking like that, that her eyelashes are really that long?” Sister Constance snorts. “Yes, we can wear makeup, as long as it is natural. I’m pretty sure a Naked palette would qualify as natural.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Are we allowed to go to the mall ourselves, or do we have to go with Father Luke or one of the other sisters?”

Constance laughs. “That’s why we go together!” She pauses. “And also why we don’t tell them we’re going to the mall. I have a friend at St. Joachim’s who has asked me if I want to stay with them for a night and attend their service in the morning, and Father Luke has already approved it. I figured you would like to go so that you can visit Poe and Finn, or maybe some of your other friends.”

“I don’t really have any other friends,” Rey mumbles, “But it would be nice to get out. Where does your friend live?”

“The sisters have a house right by the parish. It’s a pretty nice neighbourhood, but it’s also close to the First Order...you know, that church that Kylo Ren runs?”

Rey’s heart skips a beat when she hears the name. “Really?” she asks, her voice barely steady. “How close is it?”

“Just a couple of blocks away, really.” Constance finishes the last of her chopping and puts down her knife. “There was some turf wars a while back, but Sister Florence says that they’ve mostly given up. It’s really sad, actually. So many of their parishioners have left for the First Order, and now St. Joachim’s is struggling.”

“That is sad,” Rey responds mechanically. Her mind is already racing with the possibilities of staying just a few blocks away from Ben’s church. Maybe she’ll run into him? Maybe he’ll see her and-

_No._

“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea,” she says as she carves the rind off of the final squash. “I’m still new, and I don’t want them to get mad at me. I’m pretty sure Sister Mary has just started tolerating my existence.”

Constance rolls her eyes. “You won’t get in trouble, I promise! Just tell them it was all my idea and that you had no clue! It’s not really lying, and I’m sure the Lord knows that we both need to get out for a bit.”

That’s how she finds herself, only a couple of days later, in the back of a beaten up old Ford sedan as it rumbles down the highway to the city. Sister Florence is a horrendous driver, but it’s her car, and neither Rey nor Constance has a license.

“You’ll have to excuse old Betsy here,” Florence yells over the rumble of the engine. “She hasn’t had a tune up in a couple of years.”

By some miracle of God, they manage to make it downtown in one piece. Rey leans her head against the window as they cruise through the neighbourhoods, her mind rewinding back to the time when she lived here, there, anywhere. A few times she thinks she sees someone from her old life, but she’s passing by so quickly she can’t say for sure.

The sisters of St. Joachim live in a small, split level detached house right on the cusp of an affluent neighbourhood. The area around them is still noticeably inner city, but Rey notices the crisp, new and restored houses just a block away.

“Those people used to attend our parish.” Sister Florence nods her head in the direction of Rey’s stare. “But the First Order has cannibalised all of them from us. Given them scheduling and programs and revivals, so all they have to do is show up instead of having to commit and serve. We used to run an amazing soup kitchen with those people, and now we can barely scrape by with who we have left.”

Rey notices it as she surreptitiously goes for a walk that night, _just for the fresh air_ she tells herself. The farther west she goes, the more grand and extravagant the houses become. The streets and sidewalks are immaculate, evidence of a wealthy and invested population, and the air is almost _too_ crisp, the familiar tang of stale urine noticeably absent.  

Then she sees it. The tall, hulking monolith that stands out even in a crowd of million dollar mansions. Its exterior is darker than most churches, almost charcoal, and the red cross on its spire is so prominent, she wonders how she didn’t see it from a mile away. There’s a sign on the front, written in some sort of thin, artsy font that somehow doesn’t manage to obscure the name.

_THE FIRST ORDER_  
Pentecostal Church of God  
Luke 10:27

Even on a Saturday, the massive parking lot is littered with cars, and there are teenagers milling about, chatting and texting. She’s suddenly extremely self-conscious about her plain robe and long habit, especially in this group of stylish youth who could almost be her peers. Luckily, there’s so many of them that they don’t even notice the shy, shaking nun in their midst.

Her body is on autopilot as she wades her way through the teenagers, her eyes fixated on the stark steel double doors. She can almost hear her brain screaming at her, telling her to turn around and go back to the sisters, go to bed, hell even go to _Sephora_ at this point, just get out of this extremely dangerous and weirdly creepy hole she’s digging herself into.

She’s just about to pull the door open when it abruptly swings wide, almost knocking her over in its wake. A group of at least twenty young men, all dressed in identical outfits of white and black, stream out of the building and begin herding the teenagers to a corner of the parking lot. At the rear of the group is a surly looking redheaded man, who suddenly swings around to face her.

“And you are?” he snaps, his pale face twisted with annoyance.

Rey, shocked that someone finally noticed her, doesn’t respond immediately. The man’s eyes narrow, and he looks her up and down, assessing her outfit.

“Are you a singing telegram or some sort of stripper?” he drawls.

She gasps. “Neither, thank you very much! This isn’t some sort of sex costume, I can tell you that!”

His eyes widen. “Oh. You’re _her_.”

Rey doesn’t quite know what that means, but this man must know Ben, and if Ben spoke with him about her, then- “No!” she blurts out. “No, I’m not! I’m not her.”

It’s too late. The smarmy man raises an eyebrow and pulls out his phone. “Reverend Ren isn’t here at the moment, but I can call him for you if you would like.”

“No, no, that isn’t necessary, but thank you! Actually, I don’t even know Rev-“

He clicks his tongue. “Oh, I’m sure you don’t. I’m sure it’s some other young nun that has turned him into an absolutely insufferable prick over the last couple of weeks. Not that he was much fun to be around before, but still.” He starts dialling. “Just to be safe.”

Rey’s mind goes blank. Before she can even think of anything, her hand reaches out, snatches the phone from the man’s hands, and throws it down onto the concrete. She stomps it on it a couple of times, _just to be safe,_ then turns and runs, just as he reaches out to grab her. His fingers catch on her habit, but the thin wire bobby pins give out, allowing her to dart free across the parking lot.

She doesn’t dare stop until she’s safely back on the poorer side of the neighbourhood, leaving him with a broken phone, a scowl, and a fist full of white cloth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Canada Day to my fellow Canadians, and Happy Independence Day to my American readers!  
> What if I told you this was a DOUBLE UPDATE HOLIDAY WEEKEND?!?!? *yay*   
> I will be posting the next chapter tomorrow night (July 1st) (and it's a good one, I swear) as there will be no updates next week while I am on vacation. So yay but also :(.   
> I will miss you guys so much! Thank you for the amazing feedback on the last chapter especially.


	16. The Leap

“So you’re the little Sister we’ve been hearing so much about.”

The woman must be at least a hundred, maybe ninety-five at the very least, judging by the wrinkles and the very sparse tuft of hair atop her head. Her gnarled, knobby fingers twist around Rey’s wrist like a vice, and the younger woman bites her tongue to keep herself still. The old woman’s glasses are so thick, they look like glasses upon glasses, the prescription distorting her eyes until they are as round as an owl’s.

“Yes Maz,” Sister Florence explains slowly. “This is Rey. She’s staying with Father Luke Skywalker at Ahch-To.”

“’Father’ Luke, pah!” Maz leans back on her cane and scoffs. “I knew that little whippersnapper back when he was knee high to a tomato vine, and now he’s walking around calling himself ‘Father.’”

Rey slowly turns her shocked face to Sister Constance, who is muffling her giggles with her sleeve. “Maz!” Florence hisses. “He doesn’t just call himself Father! He earned that title through a lot of hard work.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did, just like his father did before him, and look at where that got us. Now, let’s see here.” Maz pushes her impossibly heavy spectacles up her nose, then tilts her head high in the air to stare at Rey. “What do we have here?”

“Um, I’m Rey, m’am,” she says, clenching her jaw awkwardly. “I’m the Sister you’ve been hearing about?”

“Yes, yes, I know that dear, but _who_ are you? That is what I need to find out.”

A little crowd has gathered around them in the foyer of St. Joachim’s parish. Rey isn’t panicking yet, but every bystander that joins makes her feel a fraction more nervous.

The service was mostly uneventful, as the parish is small and primarily made up of seniors, and everything seemed to go by smoothly. Rey’s mind did wander a bit, four blocks west, specifically, but she resigned herself to the fact that, even thought God has placed her in this particular place at this particular time, that doesn’t mean he wants her to go gallivanting over to the First Order with her heart on her sleeve.

Maz had been a bit of a surprise though. Sister Constance had warned her about some more _unorthodox_ attendees at St. Joachim’s, but this little old prophetess was not on her radar. At least, not until now. She had cornered Rey right after the service, demanding to speak with her, and Rey had no choice but to oblige. After all, the woman looked older than _Moses_.

The little gaggle of interested parishioners gather a bit closer as Maz rubs her wrinkly old hands against Rey’s, her spectacled eyes staring at her intently.

“I see a lot of spirit in you girl...a lot of potential to serve Him. You have old eyes, wise eyes, that have seen many things and many wonders.”

She pauses and takes a deep raspy breath. “You’ve taken steps towards the cloth, but I see more for your future. You just need to take the leap.”

“W-what?” Rey frowns, her skin going clammy under Maz’s gaze. “What do you mean?”

“Take the leap, my dear. I know you doubt it now, but take it. It is your destiny. It will all work out in the end. God always finds a way...Now go.”

“Go?” Rey looks around at the crowd, who are all wearing identical befuddled expressions. “Go where?”

Maz frowns, her ancient eyebrows almost non-existent on her face. “You _know_ where. Now GO!”

Rey feels as though some supernatural force has taken control of her feet as she yanks her hand from Maz’s grip and races out the church’s double doors and onto the sidewalk. She can hear Sister Constance shrieking behind her, hear the confused rumble of the crowd, but none of that matters as she weaves into an alleyway, her legs guiding her along a path she has no knowledge of.

Not until she hears the music and enters the wide open doors does she fully understand what’s going on. Not until she rustles post the onlookers, her habit a conspicuous white shroud in a sea of jeans and polo shirts, not until she squeezes into an auditorium that looks like a concert hall, not until she sees him onstage, high above the sea of people with their hands raised, voices crying out, does she grasp the reason why the Lord as brought her here.

He raises a hand, and the congregation goes silent. Then he opens his mouth, and a stream of garbled, incomprehensible words flow out. It’s not melodic or rhythmic, or anything like what she’d heard previously and, unlike the previous times, she has _no idea_ what he’s saying.

The music swells and he speaks louder, more ferociously. The crowd is whipped up into a frenzy; some stand arms raised, some are shaking, some are kneeling. There’s a couple that are moaning and chanting themselves, their lips moving furiously over some unknown language, but Rey’s eyes stay fixed on Ben. She can see it on his face, the way his jaw is held tight and his eyes are clamped shut.

“You little faker,” she breathes.

The spectacle lasts for several more minutes. The air grows tense with expectation as the music thrums with a pulsing beat. Ben, now with both hands raised, is practically yelling the same pattern of harsh, guttural noises that almost make Rey sick to hear them. It’s lies, it’s all lies, from the guitarist weeping over his fret board to the children swaying in the aisles. It’s a farce, and it’s all orchestrated by the man at the front, leading them with the nonsense that falls from his lips.

The music has almost reached its climax when she spots it. The change that comes over him, subtle, but still visible from far away. All of the muscles in his face relax, and his voice deepens as he rumbles, “ _This ends now._ ”

The congregation, unable to discern true tongues from false, cheer once the band hits its final, triumphant note, but Rey notices Ben stumble, like he’s been shocked. That redhead from last night rushes to the front of the stage and starts speaking into the microphone, something about offering and donations, and Ben retreats to the wings, chewing furiously on his lip.

Rey suddenly feels like she can’t breathe, like everyone around her is closing in and staring at her. She feels her wrists and feet twinge, as if her stigmata can somehow sense that something isn’t right. Heart racing, she jogs towards and exit and ends up bursting into an unfamiliar corridor that’s lit by blinding fluorescent lights.

 _Why, why, WHY?_ is all she can think as her brain attempts to process what just happened. Why pretend? Why _lie_ to the entire church? And why did everything just feel horribly wrong?

“Are you lost?”

The speaker is an unbelievably tall, blonde woman who is leaning up against the receptionist’s desk with a smirk on her face. Rey hesitates, catching her breath, and then admits, “Yes. Yes, I’m very lost, and I honestly don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

“Clearly.”

The tall woman walks, more like _stalks_ , over to her, then pauses and assesses the situation. “You’re the girl that smashed Hux’s phone yesterday, mmm?”

Rey’s face goes red and her eyes dart away. “Uh, maybe?”

The other woman laughs, her entire body heaving with the effort. “The look on your face!” she wheezes between chuckles. “I wouldn’t worry about it. He needed a new one anyways, and the amount of bitching he did about it this morning was worth it.”

“Oh, okay.” Rey recovers her confidence enough to meet the woman’s gaze. “So, yes, I am that girl.”

“Excellent.” The blonde walks over, offering her hand. “I’m Phasma. I’m pretty much in charge of this whole situation here. Follow me.”

“But I-“

Rey’s protests are cut off as Phasma starts down the hallway. She darts after the other woman and struggles to keep up with her massive strides as they pass several closed doors. The third door at the end of the hall is open, and Phasma ushers her into the large office.

“Please wait here,” she instructs. “He’ll be with you soon.”

Rey looks around open mouthed at the bookshelves lining the walls. She spots Bibles, commentaries, even a fantasy novel or two, interspersed with book ends and other curiosities. Her eyes rest on the well worn soft leather couch in one corner with the dented pillow at one end, and the tiny mound of presumably dirty laundry in the corner.

“I’m sorry, who will be with me soon?”

Phasma rolls her eyes. “You’re here to see Kylo Ren, right? Or is he _Ben_ to you?”

Rey’s heart pounds. “N-no, I’m not here to see anyone, I just-“

“ _Rey?”_

Both heads turn to the doorway where Ben has stopped dead in his tracks. His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat and his bangs are sticking to his forehead. One hand clasps a Bible while the other grips a water bottle that is slowly being crushed under the intensity of his grip.

Phasma immediately springs to action. “Do you need me to get you a change of clothing? Some coffee or Gatorade? Do you have plans for lunch? Excellent service, by the way.”

Ben just stands there, apparently struck dumb by the sight of Rey, his water bottle a mangled mess in his hand. Finally, he closes his eyes and shakes his head, then strides into that room as if nothing had happened. “No to the clothes, yes to the coffee, yes to the plans; I’m going to Rosario’s with Hux and the interns. You’re welcome to join if you want.”

Rey stares as he brushes past her on the way to his desk. Her clammy fingers grip the sides of her robe as she stutters, “Ben, I-“

He throws the water bottle into his trash can with a burst of excessive force. “Phasma, what have I told you about letting random people into my office?”

“You’ve told me it’s unacceptable, but I thought she wasn’t a ra-“

“No, it’s okay.” Rey holds her hand up to Phasma, cutting her off. “If Ben has a problem with me being here, he needs to take it out on me, not you.”

He whirls around to face her, scowling. “I don’t need you to tell my staff what to do.”

“Oh, your _staff?_ I didn’t realise I needed your permission to speak to another human being. I guess we’re on your turf now and have to play by your rules!”

Fists clenching, he leans forward until he’s just at the edge of her personal space. “I won’t have you waltzing in here like you belong and letting yourself into my office without warning! You’re not my _friend_ , Rey. You have no permission to just show up and expect special treatment!”

Phasma’s eyes dart from Ben to Rey. She frowns, and slowly backs out towards the door. “I’ll just let myself out if-“

Ben holds up a finger, his eyes still on Rey. “Forget the coffee and cancel my lunch. Someone here needs to be put into her place.”

“Oooo-kay. I’m not asking anything.” The blonde darts out of the room and shuts the door behind her.

As soon as it’s closed, Ben circles behind his desk and slumps into his chair, head in his hands. Rey stands frozen in front of him, progressively uncomfortable and unsure of what to do.

“Just... _why_ did you come here, Rey?”

His voice is strained thin and reedy, and it’s so unlike him, it makes her heart curl up into a ball. He sounds defeated, like her appearance is the last straw on the massive pile of indignities that is his life.

“I-I was in the neighbourhood,” she admits. It makes her feel like shit, the way his fingers dig into his hair when she speaks, as if every word physically pains him. “And I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me.” He spits out every word like it’s poison. “Now, after two weeks, you _wanted to see me_? Did you ever think that maybe I didn’t want to see you?”

She recoils. “No. No, I didn’t.”

Groaning, he continues to mash his face into his hands.

“Why were you faking today?” she blurts out before she can stop herself.

He freezes. “What?” he asks, his voice muffled in his palms.

Rey, emboldened by his submissive posture, leans forward and rests her hands on his desk. “A couple minutes ago during the service. You pretended to speak in tongues, but I know that you were just speaking gibberish. Until the end, that is.”

He looks up at her, and she’s struck by the dark circles under his weary eyes. “Don’t you _fucking_ judge me,” he breathes. “You come in here unannounced, dressed in your self-righteous bullshit uniform, then immediately pick apart everything I’m doing like you’ve been sent by God Himself to critique my performance!”  

“Well, it was a performance!”

“Okay, _fine_.” He takes in a deep breath and lets it rush out his nose in a single gust. “I was embellishing the truth of my experience today as a means to facilitate spiritual connection in my congregation. Sometimes it happens, and God hasn’t blown me up yet. Happy?”

“Not in the slightest! Why on Earth would you do that?”

“The reasons are endless, and I don’t need to explain them to some hopped up nun that’s poking her nose where it doesn’t belong!”

“ _Ben!”_ Her voice cracks. “I’m not just some hopped up nun. It’s me, Rey, _your Rey,_ and I’m just worried about you, that’s all. You don’t have to hide everything from me, I promise.”

He looks her over once, twice, then sneers. “Oh, you’re _worried_ about me now. Where was that concern about my wellbeing two weeks ago? Or were you too preoccupied with brown nosing my uncle and getting yourself a new outfit?”

“Fuck you, _Ben Solo_ ,” she spits. Eyes never leaving his, she backs away from his desk and reaches up to her hair. One by one, she pulls out the bobby pins attaching her veil to her head, letting them drop to the floor and collect around her feet.

Ben sits up straighter in his chair. “W-what are you doing?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she pulls the long white headdress from her hair and tosses it onto his desk, where it lands in a crumpled pile. She then moves to her cowl, undoing the clasps behind her neck with practiced ease. That too joins the veil in the pile on Ben’s desk.

“R-rey,” he mutters nervously. “Seriously, what are you doing?”

“You seem to have a big problem with what I’m wearing,” she responds simply. “I’m just taking it off.”

“You’re _what?_ ” He jumps up from his desk and walks over to her, his hands raised defensively. “W-why are you-“

With a final flourish, she pulls her robe over her head and dumps it onto the floor, revealing a white blouse and slightly too short black skirt. It was a bit of a silly purchase last night but, if Rey’s learned anything over the last two weeks, it’s that the right outfit _under_ the robe can make all the difference, and her Sisters will be none the wiser.

Ben stills, his eyes dancing over her body. “Rey,” he whispers. “What are you doing here?”

 She clears her throat and meets his stare. “I don’t really know,” she admits. “I just came to see you, to see all of _this_ , and-“ She bites her lip. “I came to apologize.”

“To apologize?” Screwing his eyes shut, he shakes his head several times. “You came into my church on a Sunday dressed like _this_ to apologize?”

“Well, I didn’t plan to come but then I had the opportunity, and then an old woman told me to come, but then I saw the service and got worried and, well I just-I just missed you Ben,” she sighs, her voice breaking with a barely repressed sob. “You asked me to make a choice, and so I did, but I, but-“

She closes her eyes and pushes her face into her hands to try and calm her shaking breaths. It’s all too much, too soon, she doesn’t have a plan, didn’t figure out what to say, and now it’s a _mess._

After taking a couple of calming gulps of air, she pries her face free and opens her eyes, and he’s _there_ right in front of her, close enough for her to touch his heaving chest. She cranes her neck to stare up at him, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

“What are you doing here, Rey?” he repeats, his nostrils flaring as he takes in a gasping breath. His eyes are wide and dark as they dart from her eyes to her lips, down to her blouse and skirt and then up again.

“I-“

He takes a step closer and she backs away, he pursues and she retreats, like two polarized magnets, until her back slides up against the office door and she’s trapped. He pauses at taking that final step but his body is coiled with anticipation, waiting for the signal.

“I-“ She lets out a choked gasp of air, her entire body thrumming with nervousness and anticipation. “I want- I _need..._ ”

“Yes?” His face seems impassive except for his trembling chin, but his cool facade is broken by the constant clench and release of his fists at his side.

“I need you.” Her eyes lock with his. “Now. _Please_ ,” she breathes, her voice tinged with begging desperation. “Please touch me.” 

He takes that final step and then he’s on her, one hand snaking behind her neck to pull her up into a blistering kiss, as his other reaches up to brace himself against the doorframe. Their lips collide and he pushes himself up against her writhing body, thrusting his hips hard enough to rattle the cross hanging above the door.

“I missed you too,” her murmurs against her lips, and she grins.

Rey’s heart pounds as she surrenders her mouth to Ben’s curious tongue, her fingers clawing at his shoulders for purchase. She’s encapsulated in _him_ , from his grip to his woody scent, to his hair brushing up against his face. Even the little sounds he’s making, the grunts and groans against her lips, they make her blood boil with unrestrained passion 

He grumbles with frustration and loops his arms around her. Before she even knows what’s going on, he’s picked her up and almost thrown her onto his desk. Her ass scrapes across the polished wood surface, sending papers, pens, and her discarded white veil falling to the floor, but Ben doesn’t even seem to notice as he grinds his pelvis against hers, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.

“B-ben, the door” she pants out, her voice breathy and trembling. “We need to lock the door.”

He groans against her neck. “It doesn’t.”

Arching her back, she bites back a moan as he runs his tongue against the shell of her ear. “W-what?”

“Lock,” he breathes, nipping at the lobe. “The door doesn’t lock.”

Her protests melt into another moan as he trails his tongue down her neck, pausing to suck at the tendon and nip at her collarbone, his lips grazing the outline of her cross. She feels the long fingers of his left hand stray from their grip on her hip to tentatively brush against her knee before trailing higher, higher, up to her inner thigh just under the hem of her skirt.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes into the soft skin of her throat. “Tell me.”

Rey feels like her skin is on fire, like her soul is trying to crawl out of her body. Her mind is stretched thin, to the door, to his lips, to the opened curtains of his office window. “I can’t,” she chokes out.

Then his fingers move and her focus snaps to that, _yes¸_ the feeling of his sweat-dampened fingertips as they trail up the soft skin of her thigh, short nails dragging against that oh so sensitive junction of her leg and hip until she’s writhing with almost painful pleasure. He drags his fingers lazily up the fabric of her panties until he’s there at the waistband, playfully teasing along the edge as he licks a path back up her neck with his tongue.

Rey realises that her hands on him have almost completely stilled, her fingers still fisted in his shirt. She’s about to resume her exploration of his torso when he barely whispers in her ear, “C-can you...can you show me?”

She pulls back to look him in the eye. His cheeks are almost beet red at this point and his eyes are earnest and wide with arousal. “Show you?” she repeats, confused.

He winces, embarrassed. “You know, show me how to-“ He huffs out a breath of air, and Rey understands.

Pulling her hands back from his body, she fixes Ben with the most intense stare she can muster as she slides her underwear down her legs, letting the soaked fabric drop onto the floor. She leans in and kisses him, feels him run his tongue against her bottom lip, then she takes his right wrist in her left hand and guides him home.

They both moan against each other, open mouthed and gasping, when she slides his thick index finger into her slick passage. She curves her digit against his wrist and, like the good student he is, he mirrors her action, curling his finger into her g-spot enough to make her groan into his ear.

“Yes, Ben,” she hisses, overlaying his thumb with her own and sliding it over her swollen clit. Her breath catches in her throat as he swirls once, twice, then at a steady pace, in rhythm with the curling delving motion of his finger. Confident in his abilities, she extracts her hand and wraps her arms around his neck, holding him close as he plunders her body.

She can’t quite keep her eyes closed, as she has to have a constant reminder that it’s _Ben_ who’s inside her, who’s making her feel this way. Her eyes rake over his broad shoulders as she grips them for leverage, grinding herself harder against his fingers. Sensing her need, he draws his shaking hand from inside of her and brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them in big sloppy strokes that elicit a fresh rush of moisture from between her legs.

“Mhhhmmm,” he moans as he sucks his middle and index fingers until they’re glistening. Biting his lip, he reaches down and slowly slides both fingers into Rey, causing her to let out a choked groan against his neck at the new fullness.

His trembling hand stills. “Too much?” he breathes.

She shakes her head frantically. “N-no, keep going please.”

So he does, driving his fingers into her as he rubs at her clit, his unpractised, faltering rhythm somehow better than anything else Rey has felt before. She clings to him as he groans into her neck, her hands tangling and tugging at his inky black hair for more, _yes more, harder, yes, please_.

“Mmmmm Ben,” she moans, her lips vibrating up against his ear. “I’ve thought about this for so long.”

“M-me too,” he pants.

“And I haven’t just been thinking,” she whines. “I’ve been touching myself too, imagining your big fingers inside me just like they are now, rubbing and teasing me like this.”

“You’ve wh-wha?” he stutters and stills, shuddering for a moment or two, before taking in a huge gulp of air and resuming his ministrations.

“H-how am I, Is it?” His voice falters into incomprehensible mumbles against her neck. Rey just nods, squeezing her eyes closed and chewing her lip as she feels the wave begin to approach, her hips twitching, every stroke of his thumb and push of his fingers urging the crest closer and closer until-

“Ben, I-I’m..”

“ _Ren_?”

Rey and Ben freeze, their bodies trembling furiously with the effort. Ben winces, and he takes a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. “Yes, Hux?”

“ _Are you busy?”_ The other man’s voice is as clipped and cold as ever.

Ben looks down at his fingers, still inside Rey, and fights to keep his composure. “Yes. Very,” he spits out between gritted teeth.

“ _Well, stop whatever you’re doing and let me in. We have company.”_

Ben’s entire face scrunches up with frustration. “Can’t it-“

There’s the telltale squeak of his doorknob. Rey’s eyes go wide and she pushes off of him, suppressing a whimper as his fingers slide from her. Ben barely has time to register what’s happening, only enough wits to hastily grab a stack of paper and cover himself before Hux barges in.

“Ren, I don’t understand why you just- _oh._ ” The redhead surveys the scene, takes in Ben’s rumpled clothing and wild eyes. “I see. Spending some time with ‘ _Advanced Conversations on Apologetics’_ are we?” He tilts his head to read the article Ben is clutching against his genitals.

“Fuck off, Hux,” Ben spits, his eyes darting to the open door. Taking the hint, the other man pushes it closed, his eyes narrowing as he looks around the room.

“So, was that publication just extra titillating, or are you-“ His eyes lock onto the pair of moist blue panties at the foot of Ben’s desk. Dropping his mouth open in a mockingly shocked expression, he turns to face the taller man. “Kylo Ren! Spending some extra time discipling a member of your congregation? I didn’t know you cared so much!”

Ben steps forward. “I will fucking kill you, Hux,” he hisses.

Hux just chuckles. “I know. One day. Anyways, back to more pressing matters than your awkward fumblings with some meandering housewife. Snoke is here, and he wants to speak with you. He says it’s regarding your uncle...and that girl.”

Ben tries to hide his shock and nervousness, but even he can’t control the tiniest flick of a stare towards the top of his desk. Hux, as sneaky and observant as ever, follows his gaze, eyes narrowing. “...and I’m guessing that said girl is currently hiding under your desk, sans lacy blue panties?”

His eyes closing with frustration, Ben bites his lip and nods once. “Rey...”

She lets out a stubborn, almost imperceptible snort from under the desk.

“Rey, you can come out now.”

There’s a rustle of fabric and then Rey’s head pops up from the behind the desk, her brown eyes wary.

Hux looks like all of his birthdays and Christmases have come at once. “I can’t believe you’re actually showing your face here after what you did to my phone,” he says, his eyes narrowing.

Rey gives a little hiccup of shock, but Ben dismisses her concerns with a brush of his hand. “It was your company phone, Hux, and we’ve already got you a new one. Don’t be a dick.”

The other man huffs. “Easy for you to say. What are you standing around for? Snoke asked for you over five minutes ago, and you know how he doesn’t like being kept waiting.”

Ben’s shoulders drop. “I-I need to change.”

Hux frowns. “You look fine, aside from the obvious _sweatiness._ ”

“No, it’s not that, I just need to change.” Ben goes beet red and Hux grins, finally realising the situation.

“Don’t tell me you came in your pants like a fucking _virgin_!”

He makes a move to snatch away the stack of articles at Ben’s groin, but Rey beats him to it, swatting away his hand.

“Ben,” she says tentatively, her head tilted and cheeks flushed. “Did you-?”

“Oh my GOD!” he growls, and storms past both of them into his private bathroom, slamming the door behind him. There’s the light tinkle of running water then the sudden, metallic smash of what sounds like a fist hitting the mirror.

Hux looks over at Rey, who is simultaneously shocked, embarrassed, and secretly thrilled. “Tell your boyfriend that Superintendant Snoke is waiting for him in the boardroom, after he cleans up his little... _situation._ ”

He flounces out of the office, his mouth twisted into a sneering grin, and Rey sits down on the soft leather couch, her heart racing and entire body twitching with anticipation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Canada Day! Hope you enjoyed this update ;)
> 
> I'm looking to do a couple of one-shots to keep fresh as I write the next chapter. Please let me know if you have any prompts you would like filled. I'll pick a couple and hopefully post them within the month. 
> 
> Thank you all again for your support, and I'll see you on the 15th! (Gosh, that's a while away :(...)


	17. Permanence

Ben stares up at himself in the now-shattered bathroom mirror. A weirdly flushed, fractured face stares back at him; pupils blown, cheeks red, jagged cracks cleaving his eye in two.

“Well, that happened,” he mumbles to himself, steadying his arms on the edge of the sink.

He uses this bathroom almost every day but here, now, after this bizarre new chapter in the adventures of Ben Solo, he feels like he’s standing in strange new territory. Everything looks new and unfamiliar, even the suit hanging on the back of the door feels like it belongs to some other man.

But it doesn’t. Even after quite possibly the most exhilarating and humiliating experience of his life, he has not been mystically transported to some alternate dimension where he can process his shame in peace. No, now another trial lies right before him, with only this brief reverie in the bathroom offering any respite for his frazzled nerves.

So he goes through the motions, pumping some soap into his palm, rinsing the stickiness from his fingers as he avoids his own gaze in the mirror. As he dries himself off on the towel, he affords himself one brief memory of Rey writhing beneath him on his desk. His chest clenches and he feels his cheeks go warm, but now is unfortunately not the time for such indulgences.

He screws his eyes shut, his stomach flipping with embarrassment, as he peels off his wet pants and underwear and throws them straight into the trash can. It’s not worth the potential embarrassment of Phasma or some random assistant finding them, and he highly doubts he could ever bring himself to wear them again. With equal displeasure, he quickly rinses himself off with the hand towel, which joins his clothing in the garbage.

As additional penance, he forces himself to look in the mirror at his humiliated form, rumpled, cold, and bottomless. It’s the result of a serious lack of control that she, _Rey,_ brought out in him, nothing more and nothing less.

However, after he pulls on some fresh pants, emerges from the washroom, and spots her fidgeting nervously on his couch, he decides that it’s all been worth it.

She looks up at him, her warm eyes bright and round. “I, uh, I guess you have to go?” she splutters. “To your meeting?”

It’s unfair how radiant she is as she chews nervously on her bottom lip. He runs his shaking fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I do.” His voice sounds weird, too high and girly all of a sudden. “Snoke doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Okay.” Rey clasps her hands in her lap. “I’ll just...go then.”

“Yeah, that’s probably-“

He catches her hand as she jumps up from his couch, and tugs her into his arms. She melts, all of her tension fading when he angles his head in for a delicate kiss, brushing his lips against hers in a chaste promise of things to come.

“You’ve left me in a bad state, Ben Solo,” she breathes into his gasping mouth. “You’d better clear some time for me in your schedule once this is over.”

He rests his forehead against hers. “I’ll figure something out, I swear.”

Too soon, she pulls away and heads out the door, her fingers brushing against his as a goodbye. He watches her retreating back, his eyes drawn to the sway of her hips in that damn black skirt.

Taking in a deep breath, he brushes the dust from this shirt and starts down the hall to the boardroom. It’s ridiculous, but every time Snoke visits, he swears he can feel the old man’s presence like a palpable force, a miasma that clouds his senses. With a final nod of resilience, he pushes open the door and stands face to face with his mentor.

“Hello, Kylo Ren.”

Superintendant Snoke was once a tall, imposing figure, but age and stress have not been kind to him. He was already starting to sag when Ben met him, but now he’s almost doubled over with wear, a shadow of the man he used to be. He’s seated at the head of the table, withered and hunched like an old prune in a ten thousand dollar suit with a wizened old face that could make a baby scream.

Ben plasters on a smile. “Hello, sir. It’s an honour to have you here today.”

“Please, dispense with the formalities,” Snoke tilts his head to the side, a look of concern on his wrinkled face. “You were faking today. Why?”

Shoulders falling, Ben sags down in the seat next to him. “You saw the service?”

“Did I see the service? Of course I saw the service! This was supposed to be your moment of triumph, a kickoff for the new season, and what did I see? Some blathering idiot making a fool of himself on stage!”

“I-“

“Of course none of the congregation noticed,” he adds as an afterthought. “They probably never will, at this point, but that’s no excuse to be disingenuous.”

“Of course not,” Ben replies automatically.

Snoke extends a leathery hand to rest on Ben’s shoulder. “Please explain,” he rasps. “You haven’t had this issue before, have you?”

Ben looks over at the older man, the man who moulded him and guided him and taught him almost everything he knows about church and God and the Spirit. “No,” he almost whispers. “I-“

“Speak up, boy!” Snoke drops both his hand and his concerned tone in one swipe. “I’m not getting any younger!”

Ben flinches. It’s never been easy to confess his wrongdoings to his superior, but he _knows_ it’s an essential aspect of accountability.

No.

He’s been _taught_ that it’s essential.

“No, now is the first time. I-I haven’t heard Him in almost two weeks.” His admission is painfully loud in the almost empty boardroom.

Snoke’s eyes go wide as he draws back into his own chair. “Two weeks?”

“Yeah.”

“This has never happened before.” The older man’s eyes narrow. “Hux has informed me that you’ve been spending time at your uncle’s monastery. Please don’t tell me this is related to that unfortunate indiscretion.”

Screwing his eyes shut, Ben takes in a couple of calming breaths before he responds. “I have been visiting Ahch-To, but I swear that’s not the reason why-“

“How can you be certain?” Snoke cuts him off. “Why are you so sure that a lapse into your old ways wouldn’t disrupt the spiritual growth you have accomplished all of these years? You know what your family thinks about your gift.”

“I do know, yes, but I still don’t think that the two are related.” Ben shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “I mean, I’m not even spending time with my family, just-“

Snoke hold up one long, skeletal finger. “The girl. I am aware.”

Ben nods. “Of course. Yes, Hux mentioned something about the girl, and Unc- _Father_ Luke.”

“Indeed. So you return back to that den of vipers to spend quality time with a girl.” Snoke makes a low _tsk_ -ing noise through his teeth. “And here I thought you were a mature spiritual leader, a man of God, but instead you are merely a boy chasing after a girl in a habit like a fool.”

“It’s not like that!” Ben _knows_ this isn’t the right way to do things, not the way he’s been taught to say things, but he can’t help the words that seem to be falling out of his brain and through his mouth. “It’s not like that at all with her. She’s strong in the Spirit, gifted just like I am. Stronger than she, or even my uncle, knows. I know that with some training she would be a valuable asset here!”

“So you expect me to believe that you have been spending your time deprogramming and educating this girl?” Snoke rolls his eyes. “I assume you can see why I would be sceptical of this.”

“I promise you, it’s true. She would do so well with us, and they have her trapped away on that mountain praying and gardening. With just a bit more time, I think I can convince her to join us.”

“And why would I want you to waste your time on this endeavour? Trying to convert a nun when there are so many more valuable uses for your time.” Snoke pulls a tiny day planner from his breast pocket and thumbs through the pages. “My contacts at Thomas Nelson want a draft of your first chapter by the end of next week. That seems hardly unattainable and is a step in the right direction. Please don’t tell me you’ve neglected your responsibilities over this silly little scheme with the girl.”

Ben diverts his eyes, cursing his absolute lack of compartmentalization and prioritization skills. “Hux didn’t tell me tha-“

“Hux cc’d me on every reminder email he’s sent you over the past month. Shall I take this as confirmation that you won’t have the content ready in time?” Snoke’s eyes narrow as he surveys the younger man before him. “I hope I don’t have to tell you how disappointing this is. You’ve been given these opportunities because of your potential, but now I’m starting to see that you may not have the work ethic to back yourself up.”

“No, that’s not it at all, I’m just-“

“Enough excuses. From what I can tell, you’ve been neglecting your congregation, shirking on your writing, and are in danger of losing access to the very gift that makes you unique, all to chase around a girl who may or may not want to join this church. Do you realise how absolutely ridiculous this is?”

Ben’s face falls. “Yes. Yes, I admit I have been acting foolishly recently.”

Snoke leans back in his chair, a thin smile creeping across his features. “Good. That is the first step.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience this may have caused you.” Ben flicks his gaze up to Snoke. “Do you forgive me?”

“Of course, my boy.” Reaching down, Snoke pats Ben’s cheek like he’s calming a small dog. His fingers are cold. “But it sounds like it’s not my forgiveness you need. Spend your hours in prayer, and hopefully He will reveal Himself to you and calm your troubled spirit.”

“Prayer.” The prescription for all of his ills, apparently. It leaves a sour taste in Ben’s mouth.

“Prayer,” Snoke repeats. “Only through fervent and faithful prayer will you ever calm your restless spirit, Kylo Ren. Your faith may currently be at its weakest, but if you truly believe, he will answer all of your needs in his time.”

“Thank you sir.” Ben smoothes his pant legs with his slightly sweaty hands. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, for now.” Snoke waves his hand to dismiss Ben, but then frowns. “Wait.”

Ben pauses mid-stride, hovering above his chair. “Yes?”

“The girl.” Smiling slightly to himself, Snoke traces his chin with his fingers. “If she’s really so special, make an appointment to bring her to me. I wish to see her myself.”

The man practically raised him from young adulthood, knows almost all of his secrets, and groomed him into the man he is today, but strangely the thought of Snoke being anywhere near Rey makes Ben’s stomach curdle. She’s already been through too much, seen too much, and come out of it strong and standing on her own. Snoke would only hold her down.

Ben manages to paste a smile on his face even as his head feels like it’s throbbing with pressure. “Of course, Reverend. Please let me know if you require anything else.”

“I’ll let Hux know, you mean,” Snoke crows after him. “At least he answers his damn phone.”

*

It’s a few more days before Rey hears from him again. She’s in the garden, as usual, pulling out dried up pea plants to prepare the bed for its winter dormancy. The air around the monastery has already been a bit chillier as of late, and Sister Mary has been particularly obsessed with cleaning everything before the grounds are dusted with their first coat of snow.

She tugs at the gnarled vines, which thankfully yield to her without much of a fight. Tossing them into her wheelbarrow, she absentmindedly picks a couple of weeds from the soil to add to her pile, her mind already wandering to tonight’s supper.

Sister Constance rushes to the beds from indoors. “Rey! Call for you! It’s the public library!”

Rey frowns. She hasn’t visited the library since before she started living at the monastery. “Are you sure it’s for me?”

“The guy asked for you.” Constance shrugs. “I tried to take a message, but he insisted on speaking with you directly.”

“The guy?” Rey drops the gnarled mass of vines from her hands and quickly brushes them off on her robe. “I’m on my way.”

She takes in a couple of deep breaths to calm herself before she picks up the receiver. “H-hello?” she answers, proud that her voice only slightly wavers.

_“Rey.”_

His voice sends a chill of bliss down her spine, and instantly she’s transported back to his office, his arms wrapped around her waist as he carries her to his desk, his fingers clutching at the flesh of her ass. “Hi, yeah,” she says, staring up at the rotary dial of the ancient phone. “Thanks for calling.”

Sister Constance isn’t even hiding her curiosity, her eyes intense as she watches this particular drama between Rey and the mystery librarian unfold.

_“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to call earlier. Snoke stayed for a few more days, and he had some projects he wanted me to complete, so I was a bit tied up. I-“_ His voice goes low and husky. _“I can’t stop thinking about you...even more than usual.”_

“Mhmmm,” she responds. Her pulse is already racing, and she fights the traitorous blush that threatens to reveal her arousal. “So, do I need to come in person?”

_“You’d better come in person. I want to see your face as y-you l-lose yourself around me.”_

“Oh...”

“ _I just-shit, this is embarrassing over the phone, but I really need to talk to you. Can I come see you?”_

Rey pictures him all red and blushing, probably sitting at his desk, running his fingers over the deep scratches on its surface. “I suppose,” she teases, her voice light and airy. “I may be able to make time for that.”

He lets out a breath of air in a cracking gust. _“I’ll meet you tonight at our spot at eight, okay?”_

“Okay.”

There’s an awkward pause, as both of them wait for the other to talk, until Rey finally blurts out, “Well, okay, I guess that’s settled. Thanks for calling!” and then hangs up before Ben can get another word in.

Sister Constance swoops in like an overly intrusive bird. “So, what did they want?”

Rey rolls her eyes. “It’s the library. What do you think they wanted?”

“Oh no!” Constance winces. “Overdue book?”

Rey shakes her head, rubbing her hands on her lap. “Worse. I lost it. Probably left it back at the junkyard. I have a fine on my account, but they said I could pay it off through a couple hours of volunteering.”

The other girl accepts the lie with no hesitation. “Oh, I’m sure you could arrange something with Father Luke or Sister Mary for a day. Maybe Poe will take you into town when he takes a load of potatoes.”

Poe had been helping out the monastery by hauling spare produce into town to sell at the farmer’s market. Rey hasn’t been yet, but according to the sisters it hovered between being “exhilarating” and “astonishingly boring.” Either way, spending an hour in Poe’s jeep between sacks of carrots and rutabagas was in her near future, as Sister Mary wanted all of them to take a turn at the vegetable stand.

“You could just sneak out for a bit, do your time, and then come back.” Sister Constance gives her a grin. “You totally lost a library book. You’re so bad!”

 Rey shrugs. “You have no idea.”

It’s been her habit to go to the clearing most nights, even if it’s just to sit by herself and watch the weather, so Father Luke doesn’t even bat an eye when she heads out the door at eight with a sweater and a thermos full of tea.

“Don’t be out too late,” he calls out, like the over-concerned dad she never had. “It’s getting cold out.”

“Mmhm,” she grunts back as she shoves her robed arms into the sleeves.

She almost hopes for a couple of minutes of solitude to prepare herself but, of course, Ben is actually early for appointments he cares about. He’s wearing a light wool coat, black of course, with his hands jammed into the pockets as he paces nervously in front of the massive stump. He straightens up as soon as he sees her but still holds back, waiting for her to make the first move.

“Hey,” she breathes. Any other words seems superfluous, a waste of breath that flies in the face of the way he’s looking at her, the way she looks at him, like they’re each others’ touchstone in a world that’s starting to spin just a bit too quickly.

“Hey.” His voice is hoarse and cracks just a bit. Rey smiles.

“Ben. I’ve missed you.”

He smiles, a cracked, fragile expression. “I’ve missed you too. The last couple of days have been Hell, Rey, they really have.” He jams his hands even further into his pockets as the words rush out. “I know what I said to you before, about how I would want to you to come to the First Order and how we could- I don’t know, it seems stupid now, but just _be_ , but now that seems impossible.”

Rey frowns and closes the gap between them. Her hand brushes the scratchy wool of his sleeve, and she swears she feels a spark ghost up her arm. “Why now? Because of-of what happened between us?”

“No, no,” he splutters, his cheeks flaming despite the chill in the air. “No, that was-well, it’s not because of that.”

“It’s Snoke then.” She stands her ground, chin held high. “He knows, and he told you not to see me.”

Ben opens his mouth, then pauses, before starting, “Yes, he kno-“

Shaking her head, Rey fumes and bites her lip. “You can’t listen to him, Ben, you really can’t. People like that, they just want to take advantage of you, they really do, because they know you don’t know your own strength and potential. You can’t let them do that, can’t let _him_ do that to you, not anymore.”

“Rey.”

She looks up at him, her eyes narrow, and is met with a face as determined as her own. “Rey,” he repeats. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her heart thuds, and she feels like the wind is rushing at an almost deafening pace around her ears. “So, he didn’t tell you to stay away?”

He shrugs, and guides her down to the stump with a gentle push on her shoulder. “No, that’s not it. Snoke thinks I’m wasting my time with you when I _should_ be writing a new book.”

“Wasting your time?” Rey drops her gaze to her lap to hide the sting of the words. “That’s what he said?”

“Rey!”  Ben urges her chin up with a gentle tug, and she reluctantly complies. “I don’t care what he said, and you shouldn’t either. I’m done with him, done with all of them. I want to be with you.”

“Done? What does that even mean?”

He leans back against the stump as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, actually. I haven’t really thought about it that much, I just-I just feel like it’s the right thing to do.”

 Rey slumps next to him, her mind racing. It’s a beautiful sentiment, and that soft part of her that used to collect wilted flowers and broken Barbies is positively weeping with joy, but it’s that other part of her, the scavenger inside, that’s cautioning her again.

_What does this mean? What’s going to happen?_

_Will Ben lose his job? Will I have to leave the monastery?_

_Why can’t this be simple? Why does this have to complicate things?_

“So, would you come here then?” she wonders aloud. “Or move back with your mom and spend time with your family?”

“I don’t know.” His voice sounds distant, just barely audible above the rustling trees. “But I don’t think I could come here. I couldn’t do that to you. And I don’t think the community could ever accept me as just another parishioner.”

She nods. Coming back to the monastery would involve multiple steps of confession, prayer, and penance, and then the looming shadow of the priesthood under his uncle. Ben would have to renounce everything, _lose_ everything, only to end up back where he started, and under even more scrutiny.

“And I don’t think we could ever really be together, not in the church, at least,” he continues. “They talk about forgiveness and new beginnings, but an excommunicated ex-pastor and an almost novitiate would cause a major scandal, and I would never ask you to weather that. That’s my burden, not yours.”

“I don’t know.” Rey pulls up the sleeve of her sweater to trace the shiny pink scar on her wrist that has caused her such pain but also brought her to this very moment.  “It’s hasn’t really been smooth sailing for me either.”

“Of course not.” He reaches out his arm and pulls her up against his wool-clad chest.

She sighs, turning her head so that she can bury her nose into his coat and gulp in his scent. The warm woodiness relaxes her, enough that she goes limp against him and just breathes for a moment, taking everything in. Every little thing about him, from the grip of his embrace and the scent of his hair all the way down  to the scuffed toes of his shoes, everything gets catalogued and filed away in that box in her brain labelled ‘ _Permanent’._

He’s a talisman now, along with the monastery’s stone walls and the constellations in the night sky. Something to ground her when the world stars to go a bit sideways, to anchor her when life spins out of control.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she whispers against him. “You promised me.”

He brushes the top of her head with his lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “And I’m going to figure out what to do, I swear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This past week has been hell, so I'm so happy to be able to post this here and spend some quality time with my Reylo fam. Thank you all so much for your views, comments, and kudos. I know I always say this, but they are seriously the bright spot to my day.   
> On a positive note, everything is completely mapped out for this fic, so updates should be coming our fairly regularly. Please let me know if there's any facet of this universe you would like explored, and I'll try to fit it in :)


	18. Arise

Snow falls sooner than expected at the monastery.

Father Luke blames it on “Global Climate Change” and takes every opportunity to nag the sisters about the merits of recycling while Sister Mary rolls her eyes. Sister Martha claims that the weather is on a seven year rotating cycle, with every year of exceptional mildness serving as humanity’s sabbatical from the rigors of Mother Nature. This year, with its frozen deluge coming at the end of October and staying through the beginning of November, is just the planet functioning on its normal frigid timetable, she notes.

For Rey, it just means that the mountainside clearing is now off limits, not just because she hates being cold, but because Father Luke insists on it. “You’ve spent so much of your life outside in the cold, Rey,” he wheedles over breakfast. “Take this time to enjoy the warmth by the fire that God has blessed you with.”

Sure, she appreciates the concern, but the close quarters provide very little opportunity for socialization outside of the accepted circle. _Special_ socialization, the kind she craves with every fibre of her being, during every moment of the day, the kind she dreams about and wakes sweaty and breathless.

 _That_ socialization hasn’t happened since the time in Ben’s office, almost a month ago now. Every time they’ve met since then, they’ve always been in a rush or interrupted, or some catastrophe has forced their hands off of each other and their bodies apart. 

Snoke’s hold on Ben has tightened, so much so that he’s barely been able to get out to the monastery at all. Most days he’s sequestered in his office, typing away, with that overstuffed weasel Hux watching him a couple of doors down.

As usual, the monastery still has enough special events to keep her mind partially occupied which, admittedly, is quite a large blessing. Today’s occasion is a baking bee, where some of the sisters, with Poe and Finn of course, dedicate the time after supper to preparing a supply of bran muffins and batter. The kitchen island is stocked with all of the ingredients they need, plus a stack of empty ice cream pails. Sister Mary assigns Rey to zest the oranges while Poe and Finn sift the dry ingredients and hydrate the bran.

It’s strange for Rey how she looks at everything a bit differently now, post-Ben. She wasn’t a virgin by any means, but even her fairly extensive sexual history didn’t teach her anything about affection, relationships, or love. But now, now she feels as though she’s more aware of the little things that people do, the way their mannerisms change when they’re around someone they truly care about.

Take Poe and Finn for example. She watches them as they scoop flour out of the massive sacks in the pantry, Poe leaving smudgy white handprints across Finn’s shirt, pants, and even his neck. She didn’t notice before, and now she’s left feeling a bit silly, but Poe has always looked at Finn very intensely, more than a friend would look at another friend. She thinks that Ben looks at her like that too; she catches him sometimes, when he thinks she isn’t paying attention. That look of amusement and fascination, and just a little bit of awe, like the other person is the missing piece of the puzzle, or the only thing that truly makes life worth living.

The two men move on to measuring the sugar and baking soda, their hands moving in sync, and Rey can tell that even Sister Mary notices something going on. Eyes narrowed, she elbows Father Luke and nods, but the older man only smiles and quietly chuckles to himself.

“Hey Finn,” he calls out. “I was wondering if you could get me the muffin tins in that bottom cupboard?”

“Sure thing, Father Luke,” Finn says amiably. Brushing his hands off on his pants, he bends over and rustles through the pans while Poe desperately dries to keep his eyes on the baking soda. Father Luke cackles and elbows Sister Mary back.

“Father...” she cautions. However, despite her best efforts, she can’t hide the tiny hint of a grin growing in the corner of her mouth.

That’s another type of love too, Rey notes, while she cuts the oranges for juicing. The way Father Luke teases Sister Mary, the way she pretends to be hard and serious but still sniffs the flowers he nonchalantly hands her some mornings. There’s an ease to them, despite their opposition, a comfort level that comes from years of living and growing together.

“ _Jesus’ first order was love_ ,” Ben had explained to her once, during one of his ‘lessons’ at the clearing. “ _’Love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and mind...and love your neighbour as yourself.’ Everything else comes second to that, and nothing else truly matters_.”

Nothing else matters, which is why all Rey can think about is him, the way he feels against her and the way he sounds when he breathes her name. She juices the oranges furiously, working out her frustration on the innocent citrus as she squeezes, her inner turmoil brewing beneath.

He said he would meet her early that night, that he knew of a way to get in the church without anyone seeing him. It’s insane, of course, she has half a mind to call his office and tell him to stay home, but she can’t deny that she _craves_ him, the way Old Bill at the junkyard used to crave heroin, with more daydreaming and far less jitters.

“Hey Rey.”

Sister Constance slides up next to her carrying a massive bowl of raisins. “Do you want these or some dried cranberries in your batch?”

“Uh, raisins are fine,” Rey stutters. “But not too many.”

Finn’s measuring molasses now, and the sticky substance is getting absolutely everywhere, even Poe’s _hair_ , inexplicably. The younger man stammers out an apology, but Poe is already laughing, licking his thumb to rub a dot of molasses from the top of Finn’s lip.

Rey looks away, her heart clenching as she counts the spoonfuls of raisins Constance is dropping to her ice cream pail. _How can you be sad right now?_ her brain chastises. _It’s the beginning of winter, and you’re inside baking muffins with friends. What more do you want?_

“Hey Constance?” she says, trying to keep her voice as light and nonchalant as possible. “Do you think there’s a limit to the blessings we can receive? Like, are there certain good things we can’t possibly have because we’ve run out of space for good things?”

“Don’t be silly.” Sister Constance puts down her bowl and shoves her hands onto her hips. “Blessings come from God, and God is all powerful. How could there be a limit on blessings if that’s the case? Couldn’t God just raise the limit?”

So Rey waits, through the portioning of the batter and the baking of muffins, through to the chants and singing and scripture recitations in the library. As discreetly as possible, she checks the clock every five minutes or so, until the rusty iron hands reach seven and twelve.

“I’m off to pray,” she announces.

Poe and Finn nod with acknowledgement while Sister Mary inquires, “Do you want to be alone, or would you like company?”

“Alone for now,” Rey says confidently. “I’m planning on wandering a bit. Not outside!” she adds when she sees Father Luke’s face. “I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you were.” The old priest gives her a wry grin.

Free at last, she puts away her musty, moth eaten hymn book and heads down the hall to the old wooden doors of the chapel. Prying one open, she ducks inside, her fingers twisting nervously against each other as her eyes dart around the dimming space. All the doors to the outside are either monitored or locked, and she’s pretty sure Sister Martha is finishing shoveling the path for Sunday, so there’s no way he could sneak through the garden.

She jumps when she hears a crash and a yell from outside, but the subsequent scolding tells her that it’s only Father Luke chasing a racoon from the compost pile. A creak to her left makes her heart race, but instead it’s a Sister walking up the stairs to her room. Rey’s just about to call it quits, on account of her frazzled nerves, when she hears something, something quiet and muffled, something _right above her head._

“What the-?” She slinks over to left side of the sanctuary where she hears a small scuffling noise. Barely ten seconds later, there’s a clomping noise from within a tiny room tucked in the corner, then all of a sudden a very tense and dusty Ben Solo emerges from what appears to be a broom closet.

Even after squeezing himself into the belfry and scooting down the ladder, he still cuts an impressive figure, outfitted in trim black pants, a vest, and a slate grey shirt. His jacket is slung around his neck along with his shiny black shoes, and his sock feet are leaving little wet foot prints in his wake. He’s grinning crookedly at her, almost hiding behind the curtain of his bangs that have become a bit more than artfully disheveled.

Rey’s heart pounds because she wants to jump him, to try and climb his tall frame like a squirrel scaling a tree, but she still has so many questions for him. She tries to bite her tongue, but they’re already spilling out of her before she can stop it. “Were you just at church? Are you still preaching? Is Snoke still there? Were you on the roof? How did you get in here? What’s happening with your church?”

“Rey,” he groans, his smile melting into a grimace. “Not now, please.”

“But if not now, when?” She rests her hands on her hips and scowls. “What happened to fixing things? What happened to making things right?”

“No, no, no, no.” He rests a finger on her lips. “No questions. I haven’t seen you in almost a week, and I don’t want to waste another moment of this with questions.”

“But-“

“Rey.” He shakes his head, his eyes dark and brooding. “Please, just give me an hour, at least.”

“Fine.”

He leads her to the front of the chapel and heads to the right of the ambo right next to a shelf of prayer candles. There’s a little nook, similar to Father Luke’s office only a bit smaller, and instead of containing a desk and a bookshelf it houses a tiny spiral staircase that curls up to a hidden loft. Rey’s frustration dissipates as she marvels again at the seemingly endless network of little rooms and passages in the old monastery. She usually feels pretty comfortable navigating the grounds, but then someone always opens a door or scales a ladder, exposing just another facet of this building’s ancient secrets.

She follows Ben’s hunched frame up the staircase until they both emerge in a tiny attic room with sloped ceilings that smells of cedar and mothballs. Upon first inspection, it looks like a room full of useless junk.

“Ben...what is this?”

“It’s holiday storage,” he explains as he pushes aside piles of dry pine wreathes and quilted banners. “They keep all of the Christmas stuff up here during the year. I know it’s a little crowded,” he admits sheepishly, “But it’s private and quiet, and I can almost guarantee that no one will think to come up here, if they even know it exists.”

Rey warily eyes a gilded statue of the Virgin Mary that’s perched in the corner next to an empty wooden manger and glittery candelabra. It’s all pretty surreal, like she’s wandered onto the movie set of a holiday special, what with the angel wings and sprigs of holly that are laying around. “What’s this?” she asks, holding up a particularly saggy pair of what appears to be furry pants.

Ben quickly snatches them out of her grasp and shoves them under a pile of wreaths. “They’re-they’re the donkey pants.”

“The what?”  Rey swears she misheard him.

“The donkey pants,” he repeats just a bit louder. “For playing the back end of the donkey . In the nativity story.”

“The donkey pants.” She cocks her head to the side. “How do you know this? Did _you_ play the back end of the donkey? Are these your pants?”

Blushing, he stacks a pile of blankets on top of the wreaths, further concealing the offensive pants. “I played the front too, once. When I was really young.”

An image of him with too-large ears and a mushroom cut pops into her mind, and she attempts to conceal her giggles in her sleeve. Ben tries to glare at her, but he’s almost laughing too when he explains, “It was because I’ve always been the biggest kid, right? So they would have pregnant Mary ride on my shoulders on the way to Bethlehem while the kid at the front just got to bounce around pretending he was a donkey head. So really, being the ass end of it was actually a compliment.”

“Alright then, you keep on telling yourself that,” she nods, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Though I’m pretty sure being the ass end of anything isn’t much to brag about.”

He moulds a couple more tablecloths and cushions into a nest-like structure while she explores the rest of the space. The sloped ceilings give it a cozy, homey feel and, if she lets her mind relax, she can almost imagine that she’s in an eclectically furnished vacation getaway instead of a church attic.

“Well, that’s...that,” he announces, patting his project awkwardly.

Rey crosses her arms and frowns. “And this is for-?”

Ben snorts and reaches for her hand, and together they tumble down onto the soft landing. She’s giggling as he kisses her, her fingers threading through his dark curls as he clutches her to his chest, as if he’s finally found the most precious thing in the universe and will never let her go.

Despite her smaller stature, she’s no wallflower, and she shows it by gripping his face to hers, marking him with every bruising and searing kiss until he pulls back from her with wide eyes and swollen lips. She loves it; it makes him look more like _her_ Ben, not the processed, packaged, black and masked figurehead manufactured by Snoke, the one who peddles mystery and preaches lies. Running her finger down his face, she traces his features with the precision of an artist, and she sees the layers fall away, sees his eyes gain the clarity and sharpness that she lov-

“N-no questions,” he whispers above her in response to her silent appraisal. “Not yet.”

She smiles and guides him down with her fingers clutching his neck. “I know.”

She takes in a shuddering gulp of air when he catches her top lip between his own and gently nips it with his teeth, his tongue soothing the sting as it teasingly flits into her mouth. In turn, she captures his bottom lip then trails tiny kisses up the curve of his smile until she reaches his temple.

“Hey,” he breathes into her ear, his breath ragged. “I’ve been doing some reading.”

She pauses, confused, her lips hovering at his hairline. “Yes?”

“Yeah. I’ve been reading and I was wondering if-if you would mind if I showed you what I’ve been reading about?”

She’s so close to him, she can almost see the blood vessels dilate in his cheeks as he flushes from his scalp down. “Will I like it?” she teases.

“I-I hope so.”

Leaning back, she meets his nervous stare and nods once, twice. He bites his lip and fingers the bleached white collar around her neck before shrugging as he confesses, “I’m probably not going to be any good at it.”

Intrigued, Rey raises an eyebrow. She loves seeing him like this, too hesitant to start but too excited to stop, buzzing with genuine nervous energy. “Go on then,” she coaxes. “I have faith in you.”

So, like with many things in his life, Ben dives in headfirst. Well, _hands first_ , just to be safe, pushing up handfuls of her robes until they’re bunched up around her hips, exposing a tantalizing expanse of smooth calf and tempting thigh. He peels off her socks, reverently setting them aside as she props herself on her elbows to watch, then runs his shaking fingers up her legs until he stills in between her thighs, fingertips brushing her plain white panties.

“Sorry. I would have worn something nicer if I had known,” she says cheekily.

He shakes his head and leans over her to brush his lips against hers. Quick as a cat, she grabs him by his waistband to hold him in place as her other hand works to unlatch his belt buckle and undo his fly. His grunts of protest are swallowed by her kisses as she splays her hand against his belly. His skin is so warm and soft, peppered by a trail of hair that she traces with her index finger past the elastic of his underwear to the darkness beneath.

“Rey, no,” he pleads against her. “Just let me-“

She lets out a whine of frustration but retreats, withdrawing her hand _for now_ and letting him slide down her body until he’s knelt before her. He takes in a deep breath and slowly, _slowly_ pulls her panties down, tugging past her hips and thighs and knees and calves until the little scrap of white fabric is tossed aside to join her socks.

Rey can see _it_ , see the moment where his brain just clicks and realises _yes, this is happening right now_. She’s not self conscious, but even she squirms a bit under the intensity of his stare, his eyes locked on her pussy like it’s the first he’s ever seen.

Oh. Right.

“You’re-“ His voice breaks, and he tears his gaze away from her core long enough to look up at her face. “You’re so beautiful, Rey.”

“T-thanks,” she mumbles, flinching at the flush in her cheeks.

“I mean it,” he says earnestly. “You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my life.”

She rubs her face with her hand. “Oh my God Ben, stop.”

“Fine.” He takes in a couple of deep, steadying breaths, his brain chanting _you can do this_ like a prayer, then leans over to press a gentle kiss against the inside of her knee. He hears her breath catch, just a little puff of air, but it makes his heart thud painfully to hear her so relaxed and unguarded. Physically, she’s drop dead gorgeous, but it’s the way she trusts him, body and soul, that makes her truly breathtaking.

So he takes his time, relishing every square inch of newness under his fingers and lips, worshiping the muscles of her thighs with his tongue. He savours the slightly sweaty taste of her skin, the way she quivers the closer he crawls to her apex. Dragging his knees across the rough plank floor, he eases himself into a semi-comfortable position as his hands gently grip her thighs, then slowly, _slowly,_ he lowers his mouth down to taste.

“Oh,” she breathes the second his tongue makes contact with her. “Oh Ben, _shit._ ”

He takes her gasp as affirmation and continues with more enthusiasm, his mouth, nose, entire _being_ surrounded by the smell and the taste of Rey. He’s unpractised and his technique is unrefined but, lucky for him, licking pussy is the type of activity that benefits from a bit of sloppiness.

“You’re trying to spell the entire alphabet,” she gasps out after a minute or two. “Stick to ‘I’ and ‘O’.”

The shift is announced by a high pitched squeak that escapes from her throat when Ben starts licking her in long strokes, punctuated by an occasional swirl around her clit. It’s too much and not enough, her body unused to this kind of attention from someone else, and she fights the urge to both arch her back off the ground, and close in on herself with her legs pressed together.

Soon she starts to feel the buzz, that delicious tension where every muscle in her body twitches in anticipation. Ben scoots closer as he strokes her folds with trembling fingers, his lips and tongue lapping at her clit with an increasingly frantic pace. It’s everything she needs, everything that she never dreamed of deserving, stemming from a man she never imagined she would have, and now he’s here, face first between her legs, bringing her closer, and closer, and closer-

Abruptly, he cranes his head up to frown at her across her abdomen. “Rey, should I be putting my finger in your-“

“Oh my _GOD_ , Ben” She thrusts her hands into his hair and practically forces him back down. “Just unnggggnn.”

Luckily, he gets the hint, renewing his attention, gripping her thighs, licking her, sucking her, rubbing right _there_ until she tenses up and groans his name loud enough for the entire monastery to hear. Panicking, he reaches up and attempts to stifle her with his hand, but instead he slips his fingers right into her mouth, which she sucks with barely repressed relish. The action sends a jolt of arousal down his spine, and he groans into her pussy even as she still throbs around him.

“M-my ears are ringing.”

Ben peeks up from between her thighs, his eyes as round as tennis balls. “Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know.” Rey lets her head fall back on the pile of tablecloths and banners. “I think so?”

He scrambles up on his hands and knees, narrowly hitting his head on the steep attic ceiling before he lowers himself down for a kiss. She moans against him and catches his belt loop with her finger yet again.

“You can’t escape this time,” she breathes into his panting mouth. “No excuses.”

“Rey, c’mon Rey, Rey, please,” he pleads, but she’s already hoisted herself up on her elbows while she guides him against a pile of boxes with her leg. He’s almost beet red and he hasn’t even lost a scrap of clothing yet, his virginity a shining beacon amidst the sea of holiday decorations.

 Like a panther, she prowls toward his shaking form on her hands and knees. Her robe falls back down over her legs and, for all intents and purposes, she just looks like any other nun, albeit a bit more sweaty and frizzy than most. With a couple of strides, she pins him against the boxes and leans forward to whisper into his ear, “Tell me to stop.”

“I-I can’t,” he chokes out.

“Do you want me to suck your dick?” she purrs.

He writhes beneath her. “I-I-“  He turns his face away and winces.

Rey sees the change, sees the little flinch in his eyes, and she drops the act immediately. “Ben,” she says. “It’s okay if you want to stop.”

“No, it’s not that.” He shakes his head and turns back to face her. His eyes are stormy and don’t quite make contact with her own. “I just feel so torn. I feel like you shouldn’t-”

“Okay. I understand.” She nods her head, her expression open and reassuring. “Just tell me what to do.”

“Can you just-“ He raises his arm slightly and she smiles and snuggles into his chest. Tentatively, he bites his lip and awkwardly shimmies his pants down one handed as she watches, her eyes bright and curious. His underwear clings to his dick so tightly, she can make out almost every detail, every bump and vein and ridge. Her eyes travel up his length to rest at the tip of his swollen head, which is peeking out of the top of his waistband, leaking precome onto his abs.

Clutching her to him, he uses his other hand to slowly draw his cock out of his underwear and give it a squeeze. He groans and Rey can feel the desperation vibrate through his chest as he slowly strokes himself while his fingers dig into her shoulder. He’s already so tense, so close, that when she very lightly reaches down to stroke his balls, his entire body goes still.

“Is that okay?” she whispers.

He nods, so she continues, ghosting her fingers against the sparse hairs before trailing them up his shaft to wrap around his hand, the one that’s stroking his dick in an increasingly frantic rhythm. She rubs her thumb over his swollen head and he chokes, his body twitching as he comes, shooting several thick spurts onto his belly and her robe.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” he pants, his body trembling with the aftershocks.

Rey rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” She reaches over, grabs a banner from the pile, and uses it to wipe the creamy smears from her clothes, his skin, and the floor.

His eyes go wide. “My mother made that banner. It’s got the baby Jesus on it.”

“Well, fuck.” Rey finishes cleaning and tosses the dirty fabric over by the staircase. “Don’t worry, I’ll just toss it in the wash. No one will ever know.”

“ _I’ll_ know,” he protests. “I won’t be able to look at that nativity the same way ever again.” He shakes his head and blushes. “It was worth it though.”

She smiles and settles back against him, her eyes slowly drooping as she stares at a rough hewn manger across from them. “Ben?” she mumbles.

He grunts beside her.

 “Where do we stand?”

His shoulders stiffen. “Pretty much status quo at this point.”

Propping herself up on her arm, she turns and narrows her eyes at him. That wasn’t the right answer, and he knows it. “Status quo? So you haven’t spoken with Snoke at all?”

“No. Have you spoken with Luke yet?” he counters.

“No.” Her face falls. “I’m sorry, Ben. I just don’t want to wreck anything. You know that.”

“I do.” Ben leans back against the ancient box of pine wreaths, its contents crunching in protest under his weight. “I feel so stupid,” he confesses. “I haven’t been able to think of anything that could feasibly work. All of my plans are foolhardy, short sighted.” He sighs. “I would be dooming myself, and you with me. All of my life’s work is tied up with Snoke’s contacts, and all of my influence is in the church. I’ve made no other contacts, developed no other skills-“

“We should pray.”

It’s as if the words fallout of her mouth without any provocation. Rey raises her hand to her lips, frowning. “I mean-“

“No, no, no, that’s a good idea.” Ben sits up from the now dented box and folds his hands in his lap. “Praying together is always good. I can start if you want.”

“No,” she replies, her eyes strangely glassy. “We start together.”

She grabs his hand. Immediately the room starts spinning, boxes and statues and banners merely blurs as the world tilts and turns around them. Ben’s breath catches in his throat as he feels the familiar tug, lost to him recently, but now burning brighter than ever.

“ _Why do you make this commotion, have this strife?_ ” Rey recites as he lets mysterious words flow from his mouth. She squeezes his hand harder, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. “ _Why weep? The world is not dead, but sleeping. Arise.”_

Her hand feels like it’s burning up, her grasp branding his fingers with heat. She reached out to touch his face and he twitches when her fingertips trace a line across his forehead, intersecting his eye. The contact sends an intense sensation of tickling flames licking tongues of fire on his skin, the twining tendrils creeping down his shoulders, skimming his arm until his free hand is burning too.

Intrigued, he reaches out and grazes an old Christmas wreath as the shining world twists around them. The dried boughs instantly spring to life, crusty needles and bark bright and new again as the air is filled with the scent of fresh cut pine. Rey lets out a laugh of delight and follows his lead, and soon the little corner of the attic is full of rich, deep green, blazing red petals, and garlands festooned with spicy cinnamon and juicy slices of orange.

“It’s all made new again,” she whispers, and Ben nods, transfixed by the vibrant tenacity of the world around him. He hears her voice again, _Arise_ , but this time it’s closer, _inside_ him, reverberating around his head, and he pulls his hand away from Rey’s in shock.

Like before, it’s as if the world gets unplugged, and they’re instantly back on the rough, nail strewn floor of the monastery chapel. The oranges are still dried, the poinsettias still wilted, and the holiday wreaths still crunch in their boxes, caked in dust. Wordlessly, Rey wipes the tears from her eyes and curls up to Ben, who lies back against the box, reeling but also relieved.

It’s back. His connection, the thing that makes him gifted and special is finally back. Clutching Rey to his chest, he breathes another prayer, one of thanksgiving, accompanied by a fervent request for fortitude, just in case. After all, only God truly knows the things to come.

And just outside the chapel doors, oblivious to the lovers within, Father Luke stops Sister Mary in her tracks with a gentle hand to her shoulder. She tilts her head, confused.

“Luke, what’s wrong.” She frowns. “Do you hear the mice? Are they back again?”

His mouth his half open, distracted, and his eyes seem to focus on something far away. “No Mary,” he mumbles, half to himself. “I just- for a second...”

He shakes his head until Mary nudges him. “What?” she prompts.

“I just, for a second-“ Father Luke shrugs. “I thought I could smell fresh cut pine.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awwwww snap
> 
> I've finally aligned my tumblr self to my AO3 self so if you want to drop in and say hi, please do so at saint-heretical.tumblr.com. Thank you all for your continued support and feedback, especially those of you who have been pimping this fic to others. I super appreciate it!


	19. So Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for minor non-sexual breathplay

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been three days since my last confession.”

Rey bows her head, her cold fingers twisted in the rosary on her lap. It’s late, and the dank chapel isn’t the best at retaining any of the day’s residual heat, but the morning had been too busy, and the afternoon too full. She peeks through a crack in the heavy velvet curtain to the still empty sanctuary and sighs with relief. Some things just aren’t meant to be done with a crowd.

“May God our father, the Forgiver and Redeemer, guide you through this holy exercise.”

“Thank you Father. I confess that I have felt feelings of frustration towards my sister in Christ Sister Mary. I realise that, being my elder, she is a lot wiser than I am, and ultimately knows what’s best for me, but she’s been a lot more restrictive than usual. She hasn’t let me go on walks, and has asked me to wash dishes more often than normal.”

There’s a soft grunt from the other compartment that sounds awfully sympathetic. “I see. Sometimes it can be hard for us to yield to the recommendations of those teachers that God has sent to guide us.”

“Yes, that’s true. I am very sorry for having these thoughts, and I promise to work on being more gracious.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, my child. What else do you have to repent of?”

Rey frowns, recapping the past couple of days in her head, gleaning the memories for any minor misdemeanour. Winter at the monastery has been a bit taxing with the forced quarters and impending business of the holiday season but, aside from her normal personality clashes with the head Sister, she can’t think of many other infractions.

“I slept in this morning and almost fell asleep during morning prayer. I was reluctant to do my afternoon studies yesterday. Also, I told Sister Constance that I thought Saint Peter was probably the ‘hottest’ apostle.”

Muffled chuckles escape from the neighbouring chamber. “I see.  Is that all?”

Letting out a sigh, Rey shakes her head, bracing herself for the impending disclosure. “N-no, that’s not all. I must confess, Father...there are many sins that I haven’t told you about over my time here. My soul aches with the knowledge that I have hidden such things from you, such grave, mortal sins.”

A small intake of breath comes from the other side, but nothing else, so she continues. “I confess, Father, that I am guilty of-of fornication.” Her voice quivers. “I have engaged in sexual acts with a man who is not my husband and, in doing so, I have broken my vows to this order, and to God himself. I submit myself to the mercy of His judgement and rely on His infinite grace.”

There’s a pause. “Thank you for your honesty, my child. Please clarify your sins so that I may most sufficiently advise you on your penance.”

“Okay. Sure.”  She rearranges her robe so that she can kneel on the bench in front of the intricately designed grate. Her mind reels with everything that’s happened over the past month or so, all of the secret, heady encounters in the attic, out in the snowy forest, and even one memorable tryst in the kitchen pantry, the kissing, rubbing, thrusting, gasping _beautiful_ events that have led her to this moment, kneeled in the confessional with her cheeks burning as she stutters out, “Seven times. I have engaged in fornication seven times with this man. I have- _we_ have, um, not actually engaged in intercourse but-“

Her voice trails off, the words blazing red hot on her tongue, too much to utter in such a sacred space.

“Yes?” the voice through the grate prompts.

“While there hasn’t been intercourse, we have...we have _pleasured_ each other.” She grips the smooth wood of the confessional wall. “He has pleasured me with his fingers, and I have done the same to him. He has also pleasured me with his-his mouth. Three times.”

“I see.” There’s a rustling noise from the other compartment. “Is that all?”

“No, there’s more. I have also been thinking impure thoughts during my studies, as well as when I am alone, and when I am alone, I have also been...touching myself. Thinking these impure thoughts about this man.”

“I see,” he repeats. “And what has been the nature of these impure thoughts?”

Rey bites her lip and leans forward until her forehead rests against the grate. “I have thought of him sneaking into my room late at night and waking me with sex. I have thought of the way he looks when he is pleasuring me with his mouth, how passionate and enthusiastic he is. But, most often what I think about is- is the way his face looks when he comes with his dick in his hand, when he’s spilled all over his hand and made a mess of himself. He’s so beautiful.”

She feels a puff of warm air on her forehead, followed by a strangled pant. Raising her head, she locks eyes with the man behind the grate, with the dark, glittering, brown eyes staring at her with such intense want that it burns a path right to her core.

“Father,” she breathes, her lips pressed against the barrier between them. “ _Ben._ What must I do to atone for my sins?”

“Say sixty five Hail Marys and- _oh fuck it_.” The rest of her penance is swallowed up as lets out a moan of frustration and presses his lips onto hers, the caress of his mouth only slightly inhibited by the partition. She squeaks at the suddenness but still melts against him, gripping the grate with her fingertips to keep herself upright.

The ancient confessional creaks in protest as Ben grinds up against her. She can see through that grate that he’s loosened his pants to free his erection that’s now pressed against the polished wood. Smiling against his mouth, she relishes the feeling of soft lips through carved wood, the small puffs of desperate breath interchanged in holy reverence, the graze of her pebbled nipples on the roughspun fabric of her robe.

 “Please Rey,” he begs in between kisses. “ _Please_.”

It’s been like this for the past week at least, this interplay between them. Snoke’s still in town and, because of that, Ben’s been busy almost constantly, pushed to the limit with programs, talks, and youth groups to speak at. Any time he’s been able to get up to the monastery, he’s been tired and drained, so it’s been up to Rey to inject some semblance of excitement and invigoration into their relationship.

Sometimes they meet outside, their breath collecting in little frosty clouds around them as they stroke each other under layers of heavy coats. Sometimes it’s in a dark corner of the monastery, the attic, a pantry somewhere. And sometimes it’s like this, playing pretend about a life they could never have, an escape from the prisons that they both call home.

Rey peels herself off of the confessional wall and pulls back the curtain. The chapel is still empty and chilly, a small mercy due to the late hour, so she only gives it a small glance before she turns back and opens the door to the priest’s compartment.

It’s already a pretty small space, and Ben’s not a small man, but she manages to squeeze herself into the chamber by straddling his lap. She hikes up her robes and slowly lowers herself, letting the moist folds of her pussy slide against his exposed length.

He sees stars, his eyes rolling back as he lets out a low, tortured groan. “You’re not-“

“Of course not,” she teases with another drag of her hips.

He clutches her body to his, one hand circling her waist as the other grips the wooden wall. She smiles above him as they both savour this amazing feeling of skin on skin, of intimate closeness and warmth. It’s the closest they’ve ever been to actual sex and, even though she can tell he’s enjoying it, Rey can see the worry in the corners of Ben’s eyes.

“Don’t worry,” she reassures him. “I won’t if you don’t want to yet.”

He bites his lip and nods, his tension melting away as he times his thrusts up to meet hers, concentrating his efforts on stroking her clit with his ridged tip until she’s writhing above him. It’s all so new and forbidden and _wet_ that he’s barely holding on with every roll of her body atop his.

“Oh _yes_ Ben,” she whines. Her fingers dig in to his shoulders, and he swears he can actually _feel_ her flutter against him when she groans against his neck, her legs quaking as she shudders above him. He joins her soon after, his rush of pleasure hot and fast against his belly, her kisses peppering his face as he comes.

He knows that it’s going to be cold and sticky when she climbs off of him, so he holds her close just for this moment, just to keep the illusion alive for a couple more minutes. Taking in a deep, soothing breath, he mumbles against her ear, “I need to talk to Snoke.”

She shakes her head. “Yes, but I know it’s going to take time-“

“No.” His eyes are firm and determined. He _needs_ this, he needs the press of her against him, the feeling of both of them against the world. No one else, no other distractions. “I need to talk to Snoke now. This has to end.”

*

“Sir, I was wondering if I could speak with you about something.” Ben shoves his hands into his pockets, then thinks better of it and clasps them behind his back.

Snoke looks up from the stack of financial records he’s been perusing, coffee mug halfway to his mouth. He frowns. “Something?”

“I apologize for the vagary.” Ben shrugs nods towards the doors to the sanctuary. “Would you mind?”

His heart pounds as he leads the older man out of the office door and onto the stage. Snoke follows peacefully for now, after all, he was the one who groomed Ben to feel most comfortable behind the pulpit so he watches, a tiny smile on his face, as his protégé gets behind the plexiglass stand and speaks.

“I-I wanted to talk with you about something I mentioned before.”

“Alright then.” Snoke raises an eyebrow. “Talk.”

Suddenly even more nervous, Ben taps his fingers on the pulpit as he chews on his lip. “Well, you know about Rey. The girl at the monastery with the stigmata.”

Snoke rolls his eyes. “Yes, of course. How could I forget? The Catholics have been having a field day with her. What of it?”

“Well.” Ben suppresses a shudder. “She and I have been...together.”

“I see.” Snoke’s brow furrows. “I have no problems with you seeing this girl, just as long as you bring her to see me. I want to make sure she’s right for you. After all, we can’t have you date someone who isn’t a believer, can we?”

“No, of course not but-“ Like before, Ben’s stomach turns when he thinks of Snoke even looking at Rey, tarnishing her beautiful light with his critical gaze. “Surely that isn’t necessary now though, right? I mean, we’ve only been together for a little while.”

“Well, if it’s only a little fun.” Snoke shrugs. “If you don’t think it’s going to amount to anything, I suppose it wouldn’t be necessary now. After all, I don’t expect to meet every girl that darkens your doorframe.”

Ben flinches, but says nothing.

“I have to be honest with you, I’m impressed that you’ve managed to corrupt your uncle’s little protégé, only to discard her once you’ve satisfied your urges. I suppose you’ve managed to overcome that facet of your Catholic brainwashing, am I right?”

“Yes.”

His voice doesn’t waver, but the confidence doesn’t make it to his eyes. Snoke’s face falls. “You’re lying.”

Ben backtracks, shaking his head a bit too earnestly. “No, no I’m not! Why would lie about something like this?”

“I don’t know why, but you’re lying to me. _Again._ What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing, I swear.” He’s eighteen again, he feels it, that same uncertainty under Snoke’s stare that seems to be boring holes into him.

“Don’t _lie_ to me,” Snoke reiterates. “There’s more to this girl then you’re letting on, isn’t there?”

Ben feels like he’s young again, under a microscope for something he did, any failing or mistake. Yes, there’s more, of course there’s more, but it’s still so young and private, he has no way of explaining it in a way that will enable a clean break.

So he panics, and blurts everything out. As usual.

“It is more, and I’m not willing to give her up. I don’t care what you say about her, whether you think she’s the right fit for me or whatever. She completes me, she knows _me_ , the real me.”

Snoke scoffs. “The real you.  Do you even know the real you?”

Gritting his teeth, Ben squares his shoulders and spits, “I’m getting there.”

“Oh, you’re _getting there_ ,” Snoke mocks. His cold eyes are narrowed as he braces himself, both hands on his cane. “This is Skywalker’s doing, I know it. He found that girl in a ditch and brought her in, knowing he could tempt you back with tits and a pretty face.”

“That’s not it at all!” Ben yells. “I’m not going back to them, I just want to spend time with her. She’s what I want, not the old ways, not the old church, I swear it!”

“There it is again, you giving your word as you feed me your lies!” Snoke bristles. “Where does your salvation lie? With them? With that girl? With your uncle? Those who shunned you, broke you, left you out like day old trash to rot in the sun? Don’t you _ever_ forget that I was the one who put you back together after they tore you apart!”

The old man is quivering with rage, but Ben just stands there, silent as the grave.

“I _made_ you!” Snoke hisses, tiny particles of spit flying from his mouth. “And now you want to go back to them? What makes you think it’s going to be any different this time?”

“I don’t know.”

Ben’s voice is small, barely a whisper in the cavernous depths of the empty sanctuary.

Snoke snorts. “What’s wrong, boy? Things not going the way you planned?”

Ben takes in a deep shuddering breath, his chest clenching and heavy with tension.  “I don’t- I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t.” The hard, craggy lines etched on Snoke’s face loosen as he hobbles forward, his mouth curving into the barest hint of a smile. The immediate switch would be uncanny if Ben wasn’t so used to it. “You’ve never been very good at anticipating things, you know that. Like when you left your uncle, so many years ago...you remember what you said when you called me?”

Ben closes his eyes and tries to prevent the memories from bubbling up, but he can’t contain them. Can’t contain the rush of adrenaline, the shaky hands, the frantic dialing through tear-blurred vision, the raspy breath on the other end, the crack in his voice when he attempted to buy his freedom through dedication and promises.

And then what followed, the long nights of prayer and study and just plain _talking_ through everything, the way Snoke smiled at him when he got into seminary, scolded him on his B in Hermeneutics, lectured him on preaching and shepherding and appearance and charisma and every other tool he needed for a successful ministry.

 And now this.

“I was so worried that I’d wrecked everything.” Ben attempts to swallow the lump in his throat and fails miserably. “I asked you what to do.”

Snoke nods. His cane thumps against the carpeted stage as he makes his way to the pulpit, wincing with every step. Tensing, Ben grips the plexiglass sides of the stand, his knuckles turning white as his mentor slowly comes to face him.

Finally, Snoke stops right in front of him, and cranes his neck so that he can stare Ben right in the eye. “You hadn’t totally wrecked things,” he murmurs, reaching out to pat the younger man’s hand. “And you haven’t wrecked everything now. I know how you are- you’re so in-tune with the Spirit that you sometimes act before you think. Most people don’t understand it, but that’s part of what makes you so special.”

Despite himself, despite the fire of frustration that blazed through him previously, Ben feels a shiver a pleasure go down his spine at Snoke’s words. It’s what he needs to hear, what he’s _always_ needed to hear since the day his father walked out the door and left him for suits and stocks.

_You’re perfect just the way you are._

_You’re gifted, special, more complicated than everyone else._

“Let me guide you again, Kylo Ren.” The name is smooth and oily falling from Snoke’s lips. “You’ve been straying these past few months, but I can make everything right again.”

“N-no, I-“

“You know you can’t manage your anxiety on your own,” Snoke asserts, digging his fingers into the back of Ben’s hand. “I can help you like I helped you before? Wasn’t it helpful before?”

_Dark rooms, intense prayer, the smell of lavender and Bengay, unfamiliar pills in a tiny paper cup, dulled senses, sharp slaps, a heavy weight on his chest._

Ben clamps his eyes closed as his clammy fingers slide against the transparent plastic of the pulpit. Snoke’s fingertips burn into his skin like lit cigarettes, pinning him into place even as his body is screaming at him to run.

“I can make it go away,” Snoke whispers. “You know I can. I can make it all clear again, make you focused and productive and efficient like you were before.”

Lip trembling, Ben feels every muscle in his body clench up, feels the telltale fuzziness seep into his brain, feels the invisible walls of the bubble creep around his consciousness; that cold, unbearable isolation where he feels like the rest of world is turning while he remains, stagnant.

“You know you’re better than this. You know this isn’t what God wants for you.” Snoke raises his leathery hand to cup Ben’s jaw. “My special boy. My gifted, beautiful boy.”

_My beautiful boy._

_Beautiful boy._

_He’s so beautiful._

“No.”

The clarity of his voice shocks him, and it certainly shocks Snoke. Eyes narrowing, the withered old pastor yanks his hand back, gripping his cane with the other as he snaps, “What did you say to me?”

“I said no.” Ben feels like he’s going to throw up, but at least he feels _something._ He focuses on the memory of Rey’s kind, wonderful face, her bright eyes and soft freckled skin, the way his name sounds uttered from her lips; strong, honest, something worthy of affection. He thinks of her absolute brightness and purity, despite everything she’s been through, and it gives him the strength to continue. “I’m done with your games. I’m done with you manipulating me. I’m done with _you._ ”

Snoke’s face twists again, back to the ugly, wizened, lemon sucking expression from before. “Oh, you’re done with me, are you?”

For a split second, Ben has an out of body experience; he sees himself making this big decision, this probably mistake but he apparently can’t do anything to stop it. “I’m done with you,” he repeats, trying to infuse each word with an air of finality. “It’s time for me to be on my own.”

“Your own,” Snoke comments, his face twisting as if the words are physically painful for him to say. “You think you can be successful on your own? What will you do?”

Ben frantically wracks his brain. What _will_ he do? What does he do now? “Well, I’ll write. Maybe go to pastor another church?”

Snoke laughs. It’s a high pitched, whistling noise that echoes in the empty sanctuary. “You’ll preach and write? Who facilitated your membership with the denomination? Who put down the money for this building? Who negotiated your book deal? Who-“ His eyes glint. “Who co-signed your mortgage? How do you think it will play out for you when I charge you for all of the work I have done all of these years?”

“Your work?” Ben asks. “What are you talking about?”

“Boy, you are so far in debt to me, you have no idea. I _own_ you, I own your likeness, your ideas, I own your voice.”

“You can’t own me,” Ben spits out, disgusted. “You can’t own me as a person.”

“Ah.” Snoke traces curlicues on top of the pulpit, leaving a strange greasy smear on its surface. “But what do you suppose was in that two hundred and twenty seven page contract you signed for your first book deal?”

A sick, sinking feeling settles in the pit of Ben’s belly. He doesn’t know. He was twenty one, of course he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything regarding the legalities of his work, who owns his work, who owns _him_ , apparently. All his talk of freedom and he’s the one who’s being kept like a relic on a shelf

The oxygen rushes from the room as his lungs strain to take a decent breath. It’s happening, his body is betraying him like it always does. He _always_ does this, just crumples under pressure like a pop can under someone’s boot.

“That’s not possible,” he says as he feels the panic bubble at the edges of his vision.  “You can’t-“

“I’ll have my lawyers drop off a copy tomorrow.” Snoke grins, revealing a row of tiny white teeth. “We can read it together.”

“But, how does that even work? How can you-?” Ben curls his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he tries to take deep, even breaths. It’s not working, his brain’s not working, nothing’s working; he feels the walls closing in on him as he sinks to his knees, seemingly in slow motion.

Now Snoke looms above him, a spectre from his childhood. “This is only a minor setback,” he croons as the younger man starts hyperventilating. “God will forgive you for your transgressions, and one day so will I. Have a good night, _Benjamin._ ”

“No, no, no...” Ben flings out a shaking hand to catch the edge of Snoke’s jacket, but he’s already tottering down the steps, surprisingly stable on his cane.

The door to the foyer opens seemingly on its own accord and, without even a backward glance, Snoke addresses the couple behind it.

“Kylo was misbehaving,” he purrs. “Give him a day or two, and he’ll be fine.”

He brushes past Hux and Phasma with barely a second thought, gliding through the foyer and out the door before the redhead can get a word in. Phasma turns, mouth agape.

“So is he gone now? For good?”

Hux squints at his boss’s retreating back and watches him crawl into a car that seems to have arrived out of thin air. “For now, it would seem, but he’s never gone for long.” He peeks into the sanctuary and shudders. “I guess it’s up to us to pick up the pieces. As usual.”

*  
“Phone’s for you.”

Sister Constance peeks her head into Rey’s room. “Apparently it’s the library, but the guy sounds different. I didn’t even know they had more than one man working there.”

Rey slides a piece of paper in to mark her spot, and places her book down on her end table. “I didn’t know either,” she says, mostly to herself. “Another man? Did he give his name?”

“No,” Constance responds suspiciously. “Do you want me to take a message?”

“No, that’s fine.” Rey smoothes down her robe and follows Sister Constance down the hall to the phone nook. With a raised eyebrow and a tilt of her head, she gestures for privacy, and then raises the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

_“I assure you, I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t an emergency.”_

It’s Hux. Rey wrinkles her nose. “Of course you wouldn’t. What’s wrong?”

_“It’s your little boyfriend. He’s had a bad talk with Snoke, and now he’s gone mental. Locked himself in the sanctuary, and I think he’s pitching a fit in there. Phasma’s tried to coax him out with chocolate, but it’s not working, and I’ve run out of ideas.”_

Her heart throbs in her chest, but she tries to keep herself calm, despite the rising panic. She knows this about Ben, knows he tends to pitch fits when he’s stressed. It’s just who he is, and there’s no reason to worry too much. “Well, what can I do? I don’t think I can get into town right away, especially unchaperoned.”

“ _Tell them your grandmother is dying_.”

Rey frowns. “But I don’t have a grandm-“

“ _Listen_.” Hux’s voice is cool and curt, but there’s a steely whine to it, like he’s just on the edge of losing his patience. “ _Tell them you have to go shopping, or swimming, or to the doctor. I don’t give a fuck what you have to say at this point, because right now Solo is so far gone, I don’t even know how much longer he’s going to recognize you_.”

The general bustle and commotion in the hallway falls away as Rey takes a second to process his words. “He’s what? What’s going on? What’s wrong with Ben?”

“ _He’s been broken again_.” There’s a small snort from the other end. “ _Snoke takes so much pride in building him from the ground up, but he takes more enjoyment in tearing him down.”_

“Ben is a person.” She knows Hux is trying to be civil, but she still can’t help the venom that creeps into her voice.

“ _Ben Solo is a person, but Kylo Ren is not. Kylo Ren is a figure created from the awkward, immature monstrosity that called Snoke after he cursed out his uncle and burned down his house. Listen, I know you think you know the real Solo, but I’m here to tell you that whatever spiritual, nice guy bullshit he sold you is just that-bullshit. The real Ben Solo is a little kid who has no idea what to believe, how to live, or even how to be himself without the framework that Snoke built for him._

“That’s not true. I know Ben, the real Ben. Sure, he’s not as confident or as flashy as the person he is on Sunday, but that doesn’t mean-“

“ _Oh my God. Just-just stop_.” There’s a frustrated grunt on the other end of the line. _“I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. Frankly, I don’t care if your little romance works out or not, and I genuinely don’t care if that asshole Solo finally reaches some sort of semblance of emotional maturity. All I know is that there’s currently a massive thirty year old man going apeshit in the sanctuary right now, and the college and careers group has booked the room for six. You have two point five hours.”_

“I-what?” Rey frowns at the receiver. “But how will I even get there?”

“ _Phasma will meet you at the frontage road. You do know about the frontage road, right?”_ A sigh. _“If you go to your super secret meeting spot, then go north instead of west, you’ll come across a little road. It’s how Solo managed to sneak up there without getting caught.”_

“Thank you.”

 _“Please, don’t mention it. Now hurry, the clock is ticking.”_  

Hux hangs up abruptly, leaving her holding the receiver and blinking like an idiot, until she’s interrupted by a soft voice asking, “Were you talking about Ben Solo?”

Rey drops the phone on the wooden surface of the nook and cranes her head around to spot the intruder. It’s Sister Constance, of course, in her usual eavesdropping spot next to the linen closet. Taking in a deep breath, Rey nods her head and admits, “Yes. Yes, I was talking about Ben Solo.”

Constance’s eyes dart around the room, not quite focusing on Rey’s. “It sounds like he’s in trouble.”

“Yes, I think he is.” Rey’s voice cracks as she pleads, “Constance _pleas-.”_

“You should probably go to him,” the other girl blurts out. “If it’s that bad. If he needs you, you should go.”

A wave of relief washes over Rey as Constance gives her a little smile. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

“Nah.” The other woman shrugs. “I always knew you would never stay here forever. It’s just not a good fit for you.”

Her words bite a bit, but Rey knows she doesn’t have enough time to fully process the comment. Not when Phasma is apparently waiting for her at the bottom of the mountain, and not when Ben is apparently on the cusp of losing himself completely. “Well, I appreciate it anyways. Tell them- tell them I’m-“

“I’ll tell them that Sister Florence needs your help at St. Joachim’s.” Sister Constance’s cheeks flare with a burst of colour. “I was meaning to call her anyways. She’s-she’s good at keeping secrets.”

“Thank you.” Rey’s already grabbing a scarf from the coat rack, her coat halfway around her shoulders. “I really mean it.”

Phasma’s driving is _fast,_ and not the kind of fast that’s enjoyable. Her fingers are white on the steering wheel as she guides the car around the sharp corners of the frontage road, her eyes glued to the path in front of her.

Rey grips the edges of the seat and tries not to panic. Instead, she focuses on the woman next to her, on her tense reserve and immaculate, white blonde hair. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?” she asks.

“Apparently it’s one of his worst episodes,” Phasma responds. “I haven’t been around long enough to see any bad ones before. Supposedly all the fits I’ve seen before have just been routine, but Hux has been with him almost since the beginning. He thinks it’s a bad one.”

“You guys must be worried.”

Phasma lets out a little chuckle. “Worried? No. Annoyed? Very. Kylo Ren isn’t our friend, he’s the golden goose that gets paraded around when the organization needs a little more cash. No goose, no cash, and we’ll definitely start to have issues if it gets out that he’s really an unstable little nutjob.” Her face softens. “But I can tell you really care about him. That’s good, he- he really needs someone who loves him just because.”

Rey’s eyes go wide. “Well, I don’t know if I would say I _love_ him.”

Phasma just nods. “Uh huh. Of course not.”

They reach the First Order faster than Rey thought was physically possible. Hux is waiting at the front door, his normally dour expression even more sour than usual. “He’s in there,” he says, gesturing his thumb to the sanctuary. “Prepare yourself, it’s a mess.”

Rey nervously gathers her robes in her sweaty hands and pushes open the door to the sanctuary. She expects to see a mess, like last time, but the space is immaculate, every chair and banner in its normal spot, with no broken objects littering the floor.

The only thing that’s broken, then, is Ben.

He’s just a pile of rumpled black clothing right in the centre of the stage. It’s amazing that such a large man could make himself so small, so tiny and vulnerable. She walks up the stairs, careful to make her steps slow and even. “Ben?”

He flinches. “Go away.”

“You know I’m not going to do that.” She stops a couple feet away from him, giving him his space. “I’m worried about you. “

“Hux said he was going to call you,” he whispers. “I told him not to bother. It’s all over.”

She bristles, folding her arms in front of her. “Don’t say that.”

“But it is. I’ve wrecked everything. I told him that I wanted to be with you, but I can’t. He won’t let me go, and I can’t break out on my own. He owns me, legally, he owns me.”

Ben’s voice is deadpan, broken, contrasting with the severity of his words. Rey grips her arms around her body protectively. “But none of that matters, right? We’ll have each other; you don’t need Snoke anymore.”

“But I do!” His voice cracks. “I don’t know why, but I do. I haven’t lived without him, and I don’t know how to. I have given him _everything!_ ” The words are just spilling out now, punctuated by sobs and hiccups. “He had my entire _life,_ and he still wants _more_! He wants my _time,_ he wants my _future,_ he wants my _thoughts..._ and it doesn’t matter how much of myself I give, he’s still not satisfied! He’s _never_ going to be satisfied!”

He crumples, his body going limp against the carpet as his fingers thread through his hair, clenching for dear life. Rey stands frozen before him as her brain tries to come up with the words to say; something, _anything_ that will fix this situation, make it better, make _him_ better.

“So what if he isn’t? Can’t you just strike out on your own?”

Ben shakes his head, rubbing his face against the rough carpeted floor. “No, no, it’s not that simple, you don’t understand...I’ve wrecked it, I’ve wrecked everything. _I_ should have thought it out better, _I_ should have planned what I was going to say, but I just jumped into it like I always do, and now he knows everything, and he won’t let me go.”

Slowly, very slowly, he raises his head to look up at her, his eyes puffy and blood shot. “It’s never going to be enough though, isn’t it? Why is it never enough?”

“Because we’re human,” she responds. “We make messes, then we have to spend time to clean up these messes.” She lowers herself down on one knee. “It’s not possible for you to make him totally happy, just like it’s not possible for you to be truly happy or content, not on your own, at least.”

“But I should be! I should be happy! You said it yourself; I’ve always had everything I’ve ever wanted, but I’ve never been happy with it. I’m a spoiled sinful mess that doesn’t deserve anything good. Everything I touch is wasted.”

“Hey,” Rey says firmly. On hands and knees, she crawls over to him on his level, and attempts to hoist him up from the floor. She’s only partially successful, but it’s enough to pull his head onto her lap so she can see him clearly. His eyes are still wild and frantic.

“Shhhh,” she hisses. “Don’t talk like that. You’ve touched me, and I’m still here.”

Face twitching, he tries to curl in on himself, but she holds him firm against her lap. “I just-I just-“ he stutters as his chest rises with every anxious gasp. “I can’t-“

“What do you need me to do?” she asks, gentle but firm. “How can I make this better?”

Wordlessly, he reaches for her hand and guides it to his neck where his pulse is fluttering like a butterfly’s wings. His clammy fingers squeeze hers right under his jaw and she watches, both horrified and fascinated as his breaths becomes shorter but his eyes become clearer, second by second, until she can see the moment where he’s finally okay, when he’s finally back into himself.

She pulls her hand from his neck and he takes in a deep, shuddering breath. He squeezes his eyes closed for a moment as he suppresses a sob, then he rights himself, leaning back against the firm pulpit with Rey swept up in the crook of his arm.

“Thank you.” His voice is slightly ragged, but still sounds more like him than before.

“You’re welcome.” She leaves it at that.

“It’s just sometimes I need-“

“It’s okay. We’ll have time later.”

 They lie together for a moment, Ben’s breaths evening out until they’re in sync with hers, calm and collected. Finally, he comments, “I don’t know if I can ever be free of him. I don’t know what that looks like. He’s just always been there, in the back of my head, even when he’s not physically _here._ ”

“I understand,” Rey assures him, and she does, in a way. Her parents, or more accurately the absence of her parents, have always been lurking at the edges of her consciousness.  “But I think it’s all part of growing up. Realising that you have to let go of some things that have been really influential to your life, just so that you can grow and move on.”

He ponders that for a moment, his brow wrinkled in thought. “But what if I lose everything? What will I have left?”

“You’ll have me.” Rey’s voice is smooth and confident, unwavering in its sincerity. “I swear to you, Ben Solo, no matter what hole you dig yourself into, I’ll be there with you. With a rope of course.” She shrugs. “So we can get ourselves out.”

He lets out a sigh that rattles deep in his chest. “But why?” he asks, not quite able to meet her fierce gaze. “I’m a walking human disaster, I really am. I’m always 5 seconds away from a meltdown on any given day.”

“Well, at least we know that,” she teases. “But seriously. I know people always talk about how you’re gifted because you can speak in tongues, but it’s not just that. You _are_ a gift, to me at least. My entire life, I’ve felt abandoned and lonely, but from the moment you met me, you wanted to know me. You made me feel interesting and wanted...heck, you even followed me up a mountain back when I still hated you.”

He groans. “God, I’m such a creep.”

“You are, a bit.” She laughs. “But we’re all a bit creepy, really. Poe creeps on Finn when he thinks he isn’t looking, and Sister Constance creeps on everyone when they’re on the phone.”

“Uncle Luke and my mother crept on you when you were in the hospital,” he adds. Pausing, he trails his fingers down her arm until her reaches her hand, then grips it, rubbing swirls on her wrist with his thumb. “They would never have even thought of helping you if it weren’t for these little marks.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Instinctively, she grips her side, just barely able to feel the rough scar on her ribs.

“Do you ever think about that?” he murmurs, turning his head so that he can mumble into her hair. “What would’ve happened if you hadn’t have gotten these-things?”

“The stigmata?” The once foreign word rolls off her tongue as easily as her own name.

“Yes.”

Rey thinks back to the writhing, ever shifting landscape of the junkyard, remembers the smell of hot tires and sour milk, the feeling of gnawing hunger and itching sunburn. It’s unsettling, the way her body instantly tenses, her long dormant fight-or-flight instinct priming her muscles for impending conflict. She thinks of the hunched, broken elders, the smell of cooking heroin, the sad brokenness of the life she had once lived.

“Yeah, I think about it.” She holds back a shudder as she curls in closer to Ben. “I think about it all the time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looks like I won't be able to finish in three chapters after all, so I've upped the count again. :) Thank you to everyone who is commenting and kudos-ing, and thank you to my new readers who are giving this weird AU a try.


	20. Tithe

She tries to forget about the junkyard, really she does, but she can’t manage it. It’s in her blood to dwell on stuff a bit too long, and to wonder about the way things might have been.

Where would she be right now if she hadn’t been marked? Would she still be running for Unkar, or would she be with someone else? Would she be huddled for warmth with other junk rats, or would she be frozen in a ditch?

 Dwelling on it doesn’t put her in a good head space, even though she _knows_ that it’s only through God’s grace that she escaped. Still, she fumes about her lot in life, simply because it appears as though the same grace doesn’t quite apply to Ben who, despite everything that’s happened, despite the arguments and the anxiety, still turned his back on freedom and went back to the First Order, and to Snoke.

The church leader had wasted no time thrusting him back into the endless cycle of waking up, clipping on the mic, preaching, lemon water, praying, writing, youth group, visitation, sleeping, then everything all over again. “It’s Christmas, after all,” Ben had tried to rationalize with her. “They’ll be a mess without me, and Advent is my favourite time of year. I owe it to them to be there. This is the last thing I need to do, I promise.”

“Sure. Of course.” She wanted to scream at him, remind him of everything that had happened, remind him of the pit she was trying to rescue him from, but one look at his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

He remembered everything, realised everything. But he still couldn’t leave.

It’s disappointing, but she understands. It was the same way with her, year after year, running for Unkar Plutt when she could have just left, trading scavenged car parts for cans of tuna and Campbell’s soup when she could have checked herself into the system, maybe even been adopted. The old adage claims that you ‘always remember your first’ and for Rey, Unkar was it. He was the first person to see her as useful, and as someone worth keeping.

Not that she misses him. No, if anything she pities him, and pities everyone else she left behind. The pity fuels her desire to go back, if only for a few hours. She needs to see it, needs to see them, for closure at least, and a chance to say good bye.

She mentions it during one of her tantalizingly short phone calls with Ben. He scoffs at first, but understands quickly enough, especially when she mentions the mangy cat named Portions that she used to play with.

“ _Fine, we can go see your cat,”_ he sighs. He sounds tired, not quite burned out but still not well.

“Oh, you don’t have to come with me. I know you’re busy.” Rey chews on her thumbnail, her eyes fixed on the back of Sister Constance’s veil. The other girl had agreed to keep watch, as long as Rey would do the same for her ‘special’ calls. It was a good arrangement, one that allowed Rey some worry free conversation with Ben, as well as insight into the wild world of lesbian phone sex.

“ _But I want to come,”_ Ben insists emphatically. “ _I want to see where you lived and where you came from. And I want to make sure you’re safe_.”

Her laugh is light and melodic. “Oh, so the rich city kid wants to make sure I’m safe.”

“ _I know you’re more than capable on your own_ ,” he grumbles. “ _It would just make me feel better if I went with you_.”

“I see. You realize that size doesn’t really matter out on the street? Most of staying safe has to do with knowing when to walk away, not with punching someone’s face in.”

It’s a lesson she learned one night from a man called Ducain, who ran a rival drug gang 10 miles across the city. He’d met with Unkar and, while the meeting was sizzling with tension, both men walked away scot free precisely because they didn’t give in to each others’ bait.

“Here’s a lesson for you girl,” the gold-toothed smuggler had yelled to her as she cowered behind a pile of tires. “Bein’ right isn’t half as enjoyable as bein’ alive.”

Sister Constance flashes a warning look over her shoulder, and Rey quickly switches gears. “Well, thank you for getting back to me so quickly with my pap results, Dr. Watts,” she says. “And I swear, I’ve never had a more comfortable smear.”

“ _You’re disgusting,”_ Ben chuckles. “ _Can I still come see you tomorrow at St. Joachim’s_?”

“Yes, I’ll be in town, but my shift at the soup kitchen has been moved to Christmas Eve.” She looks up and sees Father Luke chatting animatedly with Constance. “Yes, that does seem like it will be quite busy, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”

“ _Getting moved down to Christmas Eve,_ ” Ben lets out a slow whistle. “ _Someone there hates you.”_

“It’s only a difference of a couple days, and I’m sure tomorrow’s supper will be equally busy, seeing as it’s the last Sunday before the holiday.”

“ _Trust me, it’s not. I’ve been there, and it’s chaos. Nobody knows what’s going on, and the night always ends with gravy in your hair. Then you have to get cleaned up in time for mass. Really, I would almost choose to turn Protestant just so that I wouldn’t have to go to midnight mass, it’s that bad.”_

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Father Luke tilts his chin at her, so she adds, “Anyway, I have to go. Thank you for the excellent service as usual, Doctor.”

“ _Any time. Rey, I-_ “ There’s an awkward pause, then he blurts out, “ _Bye, Rey,”_ and hangs up.

Luke’s next to her right when she puts down the receiver. “Are you ready for tomorrow’s service?” he asks brightly. “I was wondering if you would be willing to do a reading for us?”

“Yeah, sure,” she agrees.

“We’re going to have some visitors,” he cautions. “Not too many, but there’s going to be some new people. Just so you know.”

“I’m not scared,” she says, her eyes wide.

He chuckles. “I would never think that.”

And it’s not scary, at least not compared to some of the other things she’s had to deal with recently. Old Rey would have been positively terrified of public speaking, but New Rey (current Rey, she reminds herself) opens her Bible during the service with confidence, and recites the passage with no hesitation.

“ _The voice of him that cries in the wilderness,_  
Prepare ye the way of the Lord,   
Make straight in the desert a highway for our God.”

Sister Constance is in the front row beaming at her, along with Sister Florence, Poe, and even Maz, the old woman from St. Joachim’s. The normally drafty chapel is filled to the gills for the last Sunday of advent, with parishioners from all over town coming to see the monastery in its holiday glory.

Rey bows her head once she’s finished her reading and silently retreats from the side of the stage. Father Luke nods, a gentle smile on his face as he takes his place at the ambo for his homily.

“The Word of the Lord,” he prompts.

“Thanks be to God,” the congregation echoes, Rey included. Settling into her seat, she surveys the Christmas decorations; the beribboned wreathes, poinsettias, and glittering candlesticks that have finally emerged from their attic home. She blushes when she notices the crowning glory of the display, hung from the pinnacle of the chapel roof so that it hovers directly above Father Luke’s head.

The banner with the baby Jesus.

Her eyes flick over to Director Organa, who is seated at Sister Mary’s right hand. The older woman is beaming with pride at her handiwork hanging above her brother, completely oblivious to the hour of scrubbing Rey put in to clean Ben’s bodily fluids off of the embroidery. Rey tries to contain her mortification, but she can’t help the tiny snort of amusement that manages to escape from her nose when Father Luke gestures right to the area that had the biggest stain.

Down the mountain about a hundred miles away, another Christmas service is being delivered to a much larger group. Ben surveys the crowd from the pulpit and he inwardly cringes. The building is full to capacity, with overflow seating in the gym as well as their satellite campuses, but he’s still unsettled by the feeling of emptiness emanating from the space.

He doesn’t really know anyone, like _really_ know them, and for a pastor that’s a death sentence. He’s supposed to be their leader, their shepherd, but instead he’s become some sort of mascot that dances in front of them for their entertainment. It never used to be an issue before but now, as he methodically reads through his sermon notes like a particularly dry professor, he craves something deeper. Something more than the superficialities that Hux and Snoke had fostered. Something that goes beyond the hugs and handshakes on Sunday, beyond praying for babies and answering inane questions at youth group.

He ends his sermon abruptly, cutting off any exposition of Luke 2 verse 19, partially because it reminds him of his mother, but also because he can’t stand staring at the sea of strangers any longer. It’s very triggering, the sheer, uncontrollable amount of people that he doesn’t know and most likely will never know, even while he claims to be a spiritual leader for everyone in the building.

Taking a couple of calming breaths, he steps to the side as one of the interns shakily delivers the benediction. Then the band strikes up another ‘modernized’ rendition of ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ as the congregation starts milling about. Several people approach him to say thanks for the sermon, which is baffling for more reasons than Ben cares to admit, and the amount of hands he’s shaken has reached critical mass by the time he looks up to a semi-familiar face.

“Finn.”

The other man grimaces at him. “Kylo Ren.”

After giving a couple of smiles and handshakes to inquiring congregants, Ben manages to steer them into the office hallway. He frowns, perching behind Phasma’s desk as Finn shuffles nervously in front of him.

“You know I really didn’t want to come here and do this, but Poe made me.”

Ben leans back against the chair, his face impassive. “Really.”

“Yeah, really.” Infused with a burst of energy, Finn walks across the hall and rests his hands on the tops of the desk, his fingertips digging in to the leather blotter. “Poe and I are concerned about Rey. Specifically, about your relationship with Rey.”

“I see.” Ben pauses to take a deep breath, taking control of the situation along with his rapidly increasing heartbeat. “What do you mean my ‘relationship’ with Rey?”

Wincing, Finn runs a hand through his hair. “That’s the thing. Poe thinks that you’re dragging her into some sort of ‘unnecessary Skywalker drama,’ as he calls it.”

“And what would Poe know about Rey and I?”

“He heard it from one of the sisters at the monastery, who swore him to secrecy.” He slips in a cheeky grin. “But I got it out of him.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “I can’t imagine how.”

Inwardly, he curses that nosy little nun, Constance or whatever. Rey has always been a bit too close to her for her own good, and he _knew_ that she would crack, and of course it would be Dameron that got to her first. Probably batted his eyelashes at her and flirted shamelessly, despite the fact that Ben knows for a fact Poe’s only liked dudes since at least the sixth grade.

“But seriously though, what are you trying to do with Rey?” Finn’s brow furrows with anger, and his dark eyes flash. “Because if this is just about sex, she’s got a lot of people looking out for her.”

“It’s not just about sex,” Ben responds automatically.

Finn bristles and extends an accusing finger. “But part of it _is_ about sex!”

“I guess so.”

“Aw, come on man!”

“What?” Ben shrugs and tries to look anywhere but at the angry man in front of him. “What do you want me to say? That I’m not attracted to her? She’s a beautiful woman.”

“She’s twenty years old, and she’s a nun!”

“She’s not a nun yet, and I thought she was nineteen!” He catches himself a bit too late. “I mean- that didn’t come out right.”

“She is nineteen.” Finn cocks his head, disappointment written all over his face. “She turns twenty on Christmas Eve, which you would know if you bothered to get to know her at all. You know this is so typical for you.”

“Typical?” Ben feels a rumble of rage bubbling deep in his belly, but he tampers it down for now. “How do _you_ know what’s typical for me?”

“I know that you’re a self absorbed sociopath that gets off on taking advantage of people! Like how you ‘employ’ students like Slip and Nines because you know they have no money and are willing to work for pennies and booze. And how you preach every Sunday to thousands of people who are willing to give up their hard earned cash to stare at you screaming like a crazy man.”

“So what?” Ben emphasizes the hard ‘ _t’_ on the tip of his tongue. “So I pay my interns minimum wage and provide spiritual guidance for people who are willing to listen? What does that have to do with my relationship with Rey?”

Finn’s eyes almost bug out of his head as he waves his arms about for emphasis. “It has everything to do with it! You don’t know how to treat people! Poe’s told me all about you, about how you were an emo kid with anger issues, and how you’ve never gotten over it. Sure, you’re successful ‘ _on paper.’_ ” He makes the finger quotes gesture, and Ben resists the urge to vomit. “But anyone with a brain can see that your career is based on lies. Rey is a superstar; she’s smart, kind, and has a great life ahead of her. Frankly, she could do way better than you.”

The bubble of anger in Ben’s belly dissolves as quickly as it started. Sighing, he hangs his head. “Don’t you think I know it?” he admits quietly.

Finn backs away, his hands still raised. He was all worked up for a fight but now, slumped in front of him, he sees a man that’s all too aware of his own flaws, too tied up in his own psyche to figure out how a beacon of light like Rey could ever love a pitiful creature of darkness.

“I know I’m a fraud,” Ben continues. His voice is shaking now, barely able to support his words. “I know I’m a mess, and I know I’m not good enough for her. Every day I pray for the strength to break free from this horror I’m in and finally become the man she deserves, but I’m not there yet. But she won’t keep away and-“ He takes in a shuddering breath. “-and I don’t want her to.”

“Hey, hey man, please don’t cry,” Finn cautions. Awkwardly, he pulls a lint riddled tissue from his pocket and tosses it in Ben’s direction. “It’s okay, none of us are perfect, and if Rey trusts you, that’s good enough for me.”

“Good,” Ben blurts out, ignoring the tissue. “Because I’m not going anywhere, monastery be damned.”

“That’s between you and God, buddy, please don’t bring me into this. I just started up with the Big Guy; I don’t need you coming around and messing stuff up.” Finn sobers up enough to see the seriousness in the lines of Ben’s face, the clench of his jaw set in determination. “You really love her, hey?”

“Yes.” It feels good to say it out loud, even if it is to Rey’s incessantly annoying nurse-slash-friend. “Yes, I love her.”

“Well then, now I guess you’ve got to earn her,” Finn remarks. “And even though, I’ve got to be honest with you, I _still_ don’t trust you and _still_ think you’re kind of crazy, as long as you’re concerned with her wellbeing, I think things are going to go alright with you two.”

He chuckles to himself. “You know, it’s funny, but I used to think that Rey and I might have a chance, but I guess that ship has sailed.”

“So you and Poe aren’t...” Ben lets his words hang there, unsure of the situation.

“Poe and-?”  Dawning realisation spreads across Finn’s face as he stares off into the distance, running over every interaction he’s had with the other man over the past couple of months. “Wait, you think that Poe and-?”

Ben backs away, hands poised defensively. “I don’t know, I’m just assuming things, just going off of what Rey’s told me.”

“Oh, you’re assuming! Well-“

Finn pauses mid-word and clasps his face in his hands. “Well, I guess Poe and I are going to have a chat.”

“Good luck with that.” Ben covertly rubs his sweaty hands off on his pants. That really didn’t go half bad, all things considered, even though he was basically ambushed and forced to admit his feelings for Rey to someone he doesn’t particularly care for.  

And he learned her birthday, so really it was all worth it. _She_ was all worth it.

*

The hall at St. Joachim’s is packed for Christmas Eve dinner, and Rey is already overwhelmed.

There’s four hundred chairs set up in the hall, with another two hundred seats in the sanctuary. People have already started showing up, milling around the tables clutching their tattered coats. She feels her heart start to pound when she sees a couple familiar faces from her previous life, when she smells the various odours equated with living on the street. Stale socks, unwashed armpits, the frigid chill of frozen air trapped in the hair of those around her. She’s been so used to the monastery’s laundry soap that she’s almost forgotten the melange of smells that came with her previous lifestyle, and she can’t say she really misses them.

A push on the swinging orange door reveals a steamy, bustling kitchen. Her nose is immediately assaulted with another plethora of smells, but these are delicious, warm, and homey. There’s a line up of freshly roasted turkeys on one counter with baked sweet potatoes on another, and she can even spot an assortment of pies resting on cooling racks over by the ovens.

“BB, _wait_! Not the kitchen!”

There’s only Poe’s frantic shout of warning before Rey is almost bowled over by a blur of orange and white fur. She laughs, catching the squirming dog in her arms as Poe jogs over, spluttering apologies.

“She’s just a bit excited with all of the people around, all the new smells, you know.” He shrugs his shoulder and smiles. “What can you do?”

Rey just laughs, squeezing BB-8 as the overexcited pup laps at her face. “It’s okay, Poe, I missed her too. However, we should get out of the kitchen for now.”

“Of course, geez. I know these guys are homeless, but even people from the street don’t want dog hair in their food.”

Once they’re clear of the kitchen, she sets down the dog and watches as she darts from person to person, focusing on the children, of course. Poe folds his arms in front of his chest and nudges her lightly. “So, what’s going on with you?”

Rey’s eyes narrow at his obviously artificial tone. “Nothing, but you look like you know something about me you shouldn’t. What’s going on?”

Shoulders sagging, he admits, “I know about you and Ben Solo. And, hey, don’t you dare deny it!” His eyes go wide when she opens her mouth. “No excuses! I heard it right from Connie’s mouth.”

She clamps her mouth shut. “Traitor,” she grumbles between her pursed lips. “So what, have you come over here to play big brother?”

“Hardly. I came here to serve hundreds of people Christmas dinner, then do dishes for three hours and fall asleep while Father Luke preaches. Same as you.”

“But why are you bringing up Ben? And before you try to dissuade me from him, you should know that this isn’t just a silly crush. We’ve been through a lot together, and he’s helped me out with all of this church stuff and-”

“I know, Rey.” Poe reaches his arm around her and squeezes her in an awkward side hug. She huffs, but lets her head drop onto his shoulder just the same. “I know he’s not just fucking around with you, I really do. Finn talked with him.”

“Oh no.” She groans, mortified.

“Hey, don’t be like that.” Poe laughs and extricates her face from her hands.

Cheeks flaming, she shakes her head in an attempt to steady her increasingly tense body. “Why would he do that?”

“Because we care about you, and we don’t want to see you with some creep who’s only in it for the booty. And Rey-wait.” He rests his hands on her shoulders as she tries to retreat back into the solace of her fingers. “It’s fine. I know you don’t _need_ us to do this, that you can take care of yourself, but it’s really for us, and it’s all fine. Ben loves you, more than he’s loved anyone else before, I think.”

Rey swallows the lump in her throat and nods. It’s strange to hear someone refer to ‘love’ when speaking about her, even if said person isn’t actually the one who is in love with her. The strangeness mostly derives from the fact that she’s known for a while, yet could never actually bring herself to think it, let alone say it.

“REY!”

Poe’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “Don’t you dare tell her that you know I know,” he warns before tossing out a jovial, “Heeeeyyyyy” to Sister Constance, who approaches them carrying what appears to be a giant bowl of orange and green slime.

Rey recoils. “What’s that?”

“What’s what? Oh, this?” The nun stares down at the dish like it’s something that’s perfectly acceptable to carry around in everyday life. “This is jello salad.”

“Jello salad? Like, with _vegetables_?”

“No, with fruit of course.” She shakes it and Rey watches, dumbfounded, as the salad wobbles around in its bowl.

Poe snorts. “I love it when you encounter the strangeness of modern civilization, Rey. It never gets old. Anyways, I need to go catch my dog. See you two at the dessert table!”

He flashes them a cheeky wink, then disappears into the rapidly thickening crowd.

Rey looks around the hall, her heart thumping even harder as new people pour in. “This is absolute madness!”

“It’s _wonderful_!” Sister Constance grins through the chaos, depositing her ‘salad’ on a table. “There’s so much food and happiness, and so many people here to enjoy it all. You could just get lost in the Christmas spirit!”

“Well, as far as things to get lost in, I suppose that’s not that bad,” Rey admits.

“And everyone is so excited to start, and once we do start, everyone is so happy.” The nun lets out a sigh. “Christmas is the best time of the year because it is full of so much giving.”

Rey’s about to burst her bubble with stories of her post-holiday season junkyard experience, about the mounds of discarded clothing and toys alike, but she bites her tongue and just smiles instead.

Four hundred plates of mashed potatoes later, and she realises that there are worse things than being hungry outside on Christmas Eve, and one of them is being hungry while serving dinner to hundreds of strangers on Christmas Eve. Sure, she’s not half as famished as she has been in her past, but steady meals over the past few months have made her body dependant on food every five hours at least, so the pangs of hunger are sharp and worsening.

Finally, she manages to spirit herself away with a small plate of turkey, gravy, and a whole wheat bun. Not wanting to potentially encounter one of the more colourful characters from her past, she finds a spot near the back door next to the coat rack where she can eat undisturbed. She’s almost blissfully finished her food when she hears a familiar deep voice.

“Are you ready to go?”

It’s a testament to how much he’s normally coiffed that it takes her a second to actually recognize Ben beneath the warm layers and week’s worth of stubble. He’s wearing an older, rattier version of one of his black wool coats, coupled with a pair of insulated black leather gloves and two wool scarves wrapped around his neck and head. A knitted cap is perched on his head, forcing his wavy black hair down into his eyes.

“You look warm,” she comments lightly, her voice steady despite her pounding heart. The roughness of his face, as well as the cozy warm clothing and determined look in his eyes does...things to her. It helps her imagine a life where they could have met under different circumstances, with less restrictions. Just Rey and Ben, with no tailored suits or suffocating robes between them.

“Well, it’s cold outside.” He wrinkles his nose. “Colder than normal, I think, and I don’t imagine the junkyard has much by the way of central heating.”

“You would be correct.” She glances over her shoulder and spots Poe and BB-8 with a large group of kids who have congregated next to the pies. Sister Constance has found Florence milling with some nuns from a cloister across town. Everyone seems preoccupied, and it’s not like she’s been missed during her meal break at all. “I think most of the staff are busy dishing out dessert...they won’t be finished until nine at least.”

“Will you be able to sneak away?”

 “Yeah, I think so.”

She retrieves her coat from the rack and pulls it on, along with her gloves and woollen scarf. With a backward glance at the feasting crowd, she ducks out the back door, Ben following her as long and dark as her shadow.

The drive to the junkyard is silent. Rey gets lost in thought as Ben manoeuvres his i8 down poorly lit back alleys. She keeps her eyes focused on counting the bus stops that flash by, avoiding the more remote recesses of her mind where she stores all of her old memories. Normally she has no problem with reminiscing but, now as Ben’s car inches closer and closer, everything seems a bit too close to home.

Too soon, they arrive at the city dump. Surrounded by chicken wire, there’s an old sign proclaiming ‘Jakku Junkyard’ in flashing fluorescent, as if anyone would care.

Ben bites his lip. “So this is it,” he comments, kicking a rusty old tin can for emphasis.

“This is it.” She looks over the massive acres of garbage, littered as far as the eye can see. It feels impossible that only a few months ago she called this place home, this literal wasteland full of its hazards and piles of broken things.

“I was a broken thing,” she whispers to herself. Ben nods and reaches out to grip her gloved hand. His silence is all the reassurance she needs, and together they head to the nearest outcropping of tires to the west of the entry gate.

Her old home is easy to spot, as not many of the tires remain upright, or have enough space to house the modest belongings of a nineteen year old girl. The air is tense, most people either hiding from the cold or off to spend a night in a shelter, and Rey is reminded of how lonely life here is. Even surrounded by hundreds of people, the tire feels like an island of comfort amidst a sea of solitude.

“It’s a miracle these are still here,” she says, her breath coming in little frozen puffs. Ever so gently, she crawls into the upturned tire and retrieves a tiny little scavenged doll and a handful of Boy Scout badges, all covered in a thick layer of dust. She lovingly places them in her pocket and huffs out a sigh of contentment.

“Feeling good?” Ben asks.

“Yeah.”

They walk around the perimeter, nodding occasionally to people they find crouched under blankets or mounds of jackets. Rey wishes she could give them more, but she contents herself with handing out envelopes filled with five dollar bills, remnants of her weekly stipend at the monastery. Ben’s about to pull out his wallet, but she stops him with a light hand on his arm.

“Not this way,” she says.

It’s almost been half an hour by the time they reach the biggest, most intact tent on the premises. Ben knows without asking that it belongs to the junk lord Unkar Plutt, so he grips Rey’s gloved hand even harder in his. She stands frozen for only a minute, then pulls her hands free and says, without hesitation, “He’s home.”

Ben bristles behind her. “How do you know?”

“I just do.” She stands up straighter, taller, with her shoulders held back. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Rey, wait.” Reaching out his hand, he gently grabs her arm, stilling her. “You don’t have to do this. And if you really want to go, you don’t have to do it alone.”

Her furrowed face softens. “Oh Ben. I wish that were the case, but this is something I have to do by myself.”

“Can I at least stand here?” He gestures to a pile of frosty red plastic Viewmasters collected in front of the tent. “Just in case something were to happen. I know you can take care of yourself, but it would make me feel better to be close by.”

She tilts her head, deliberating her options. “Fine,” she sighs. “But don’t come in unless I tell you.”

“Of course not.”

It’s obvious that Rey can take care of herself in far more situations than most people could even imagine. Still, there is a part of her that appreciates Ben’s tall, solid form posed tensely behind her, ready to strike. She doesn’t deny that it’s tempting to give in and ask him to escort her into this den of thieves, but she knows that this is one thing she has to do alone. She has to confront her past, and put it all behind her.

Body thrumming with trepidation, she pulls up the flap and, with one final look at Ben, enters the tent.

It smells worse than she remembers, thick with the sour-sweet smell of heroin mixed with old shoes and stale sweat. Illuminated only by the light of a bug encrusted oil lantern, she can just barely make out Unkar Plutt’s flabby, flaccid form propped atop a pile of tattered fur coats. He’s almost naked, with only a pair of soiled boxer shorts hiding his shame from plain sight, and she remembers how his body used to emanate an intense heat even in the dead of winter.

He stirs when she enters, his rheumy eyes searching the space until they meet her face. “Rey,” he breathes, then dissolves into a fit of coughs that only abate when he takes a long drag from his dusty bottle of vodka.

She pauses about three feet in front of him. “Unkar,” she responds with a nod. “You remember me.”

He laughs, and it’s a cruel, rattling noise that fills the tent. “Remember you? You’ve only been gone for a few months, not years. You may be all cleaned up and dressed in fancy clothes, but you’re still the same little junk rat as before.”

“I see that time hasn’t made you any more pleasant.”

“Just cut to the chase, girl. I have an appointment in ten minutes that I don’t want to miss.” His pallid jowls shift just enough to reveal a row of stained teeth. “Unless you plan on taking her place. I wouldn’t mind.”

Rey jams her hands into her pockets and resists a shudder. Her skin is already crawling, and she’s only been in the tent for a minute. “I just came to say goodbye, and to tell you that I appreciate what you’ve done for me. I know not all of the masters here would have been so kind to an abandoned girl, but you treated me better than most, and for that I’m thankful.”

“Goodbye? You’re leaving the city?” He has the decency to look almost thoughtful. “What will I do without my best little runner?”

She snorts. “You seem to be doing fine without me now. Your territory has expanded to 104th Street now, hasn’t it? I saw Cletus arguing with one of the Irving boys about being on your turf.”

“Yes, well Fate has been kind to me this year. Ducain’s main supplier was busted halfway through August, and he never quite recovered.”

“Was that Foster or Mavis who went down?” Rey frowns and shakes her head. “Not that it really matters right now. I just came back to see how everyone was, and to tell you that I won’t be back. Also, to pick up my things.”

Unkar leans back and looks at her, his massive neck settling into folds as he turns his head to stare at her backside. “You look different now, Rey.” 

“Good,” she replies automatically. “I’m fed now, and have been to both the doctor and the dentist within the last two months. It makes a world of difference.”

“No, it’s not that,” he mumbles to himself. “You look more mature, more grown up. Has that Kylo Ren finally fucked you?”

“What?” Instinctively, Rey grips the neck of her coat, drawing the fabric closer even as he surveys her body. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he taunts, clicking his tongue. “You know I have eyes and ears everywhere. I knew that spoiled church brat had eyes on you the second he snuck into the hospital, and I can imagine that it’s only progressed from there. Now he’s pledged himself to you, I can imagine.”

She doesn’t even know what to say. “Yeah, I guess, though I don’t know why you would be so interested.”

“I like to monitor my investments.” He pauses. “So our bargain paid off, and in droves it would seem.”

“Our bargain?” She frowns. “What bargain?”

She’s already cataloguing every interaction she’s ever had with him, every deal or loose end that could somehow be interpreted as an arrangement, but she comes up with nothing. Unless he’s talking about his initial employment of her, and she did more than her time, she had no idea what he’s talking about.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” He takes a long, drawn out look over her form, and Rey feels her skin crawl. “Unless you’ve already forgotten. You did have a lot to drink that night.”

There’s a twinge of memory in the back of her mind, more like an itch than anything. It’s a warning, a prompt to leave this tent and never come back lest she stumble over something she can never unlearn. Some facet of her life that will taint every subsequent event.

“When did I have a lot to drink?”

It’s an innocent enough question, but it causes Unkar to let out a long whistle that squeaks through his flabby lips. “When did you have a lot to drink...” he mumbles to himself as he reaches back against his ragged perch and rustles around behind his massive girth for a good minute or two until he pulls something out with a triumphant flourish. It’s a long metal spike, worn and rusty, that looks to be many years old, squarish in shape, and still stained with dried blood.

Rey freezes.

His beady eyes narrow. “Remember this?”

*

His first hint that something’s wrong comes when she silently exits the tent, her face a blank slate and her eyes fixed straight ahead. Ben jumps up from his post and jogs to catch up with her. She’s obviously upset; she doesn’t normally walk this quickly, and he can see that her fists are clenched and her eyes have gone glassy.

“Hey, Rey!” he calls after her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replies automatically. “Come on, we should get going.”

He nearly trips on a split bag of diapers trying to catch her as she expertly navigates the shifting piles of garbage. With an inelegant flail of his arm, he manages to catch her shoulder and pull her back against him. She wiggles around in his arms for a bit, but then goes limp.

“Rey, don’t be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like... _this_.”

“Like _what_?”

It’s like talking to a three year old. Ben releases her and she stalks in front of him, her face arranged into a look of pure boredom.

“What do you want from me, Ben?” she huffs. “Some insight or spiritual revelation? Unkar Plutt’s just a junk dealer, and all of this stuff is just junk. There’s no great epiphanies lurking behind that pile of broken Barbies or inside that moldy refrigerator.”

“I’m not asking for epiphanies, I just want to know what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong! I just want to get out of here. This place is making me sad.”

Ben watches, helpless, as she returns to traversing the junk piles, scratching at her wrists as she clambers. It’s weird for her to be like this, so closed off and guarded. That was old Rey, hurt Rey, the Rey who had no one else in the world but herself.

“It’s not because of the cat, is it?” he asks. “I swear, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll comb this entire hellhole for that dumb cat.”

“His name is Portions,” she mumbles. “And I guess that would make me feel a bit better, thanks.”

“Then I’ll do it,” he vows, adjusting his scarf so that it covers his mouth before clarifying, “Uh, what does he look like?”

“He’s a big tabby. As big as a small dog.” Her forehead wrinkles, and she scratches at her wrists again. “At least that’s what I remember, but I’m not really sure, to be honest.”

“Good enough. Where are you going to go?”

She bites her lip, shifting her weight from one foot to the other like a nervous child. “Probably back to St. Joachim’s so I can help clean up before midnight mass.”

Ben quirks an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You still seem...off.”

Rey glances up at him, and for a second he feels like he can see right into her soul. She’s scared, _really_ truly scared, so much so it sends a chill down his spine and makes it vision flash red. Whatever happened in that tent, it was something that marked her to the bone, something that wiped every ounce of happiness from her sunny disposition.

“Rey.” His voice is rough and gravelly. “Please tell me what happened.”

She shrugs, and the facade is back, her face as benign and impassive as before. “Nothing happened, I’ve just been reminded how creepy Unkar is, that’s all. Anyways, I’m heading back. If you want to stay, then-“ She wrinkles her nose and stuffs her hands into her coat pockets. “Be my guest.”

He was intending on finding the cat, really. At least that’s what he tells himself, his promise running like a mantra through his head as he stalks through the crunching junkyard, his eyes fixed on the dilapidated shelter in the corner. He doesn’t announce himself, just brushes aside the flap and steps into the tent, nearly running into a half naked waif currently kneeled in front of the mass of flesh he assumes is Unkar Plutt.

“Leave us,” he barks, and she squeaks, gathering her shirt off of the floor before she runs out the door. Unkar slowly looks up at him, dulled by a fog of sex and heroin, and Ben has to resist the urge to gag.

“Kylo Ren,” the other man drawls with a lazy smile plastered on his face. “You’re hairier than your pictures would suggest.”

Ben bares his teeth in a ferocious grin. “Unkar Plutt. You’re just as sad, flabby, and pathetic as I imagined you.”

“Oh, I see. The girl sent you to do her dirty work. She doesn’t like the idea that she may not be as special as she thought.”

“Look, I don’t fucking care who you are, and I know Rey’s past isn’t any of my business.” Ben’s eyes narrow. “But something happened in here, and now she’s upset. I need an explanation.”

“You’re right; what happens between us is none of your business.” Unkar’s eyes narrow until they’re nothing more than folded slits on his swollen face. “Just because you’re fucking her doesn’t mean you own her.”

“Rey owns herself,” Ben barks. “I’m just here to make sure some overstuffed creep isn’t trying to play mind games with her.”

He hates feeling appraised, and that’s just what Unkar is doing right now, assessing him like he’s another piece of junk up for trade. The older man’s tiny eyes scrape over his clothes, over his body and his posture, assessing the quality of his wares and the size of his muscles. Finally, he lets out a tiny snort, and comments, “You speak some mighty big words for such a pretty boy.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Unkar gives Ben one last look and scoffs at the other man. “You come in here and throw your weight around, but I can tell that you’re nothing more than a scared, pathetic little boy who hides behind black clothing and an intimidating height. I’ve eaten men four times your size for breakfast, and then had room for more. You’re nothing, _pretty boy_.”

Ben bites back the obvious comment and instead reaches his hand into his coat and begins rummaging through his pockets. There’s a buzzing noise, whether it’s from outside or in his head, he doesn’t know, but it drums against him in a maddening, incessant beat. “A pathetic little boy, hm?” he says. “A pretty boy?”

 His skin feels like it’s on fire; his nerves dancing from the tension as his blood boils. No one berates him and gets away with it, not his old classmates, not Hux, not even his Uncle Luke. A charred old foundation is the only remnant of a childhood built on humiliation, and he’ll be damned if an obese thug gets the last word in while he’s still breathing.

As his fingers close around the velvet pouch in his breast pocket, he stalks forward, staring down Unkar until he’s almost nose to nose with the old junk dealer. “If you had said those words to me several weeks ago, you would be a bit luckier,” he explains, the lightness of voice contrasting with his stormy eyes and harsh words. “You see, I just started carrying this again. Call me crazy, but I’ve been feeling a bit sentimental for the old ways.”

 The pouch is open in his hand now, and with two fingers extended he dips in and pulls out its contents. It’s a rosary, heavier than most, made of sterling silver and rough hewn onyx beads. At its centre is an ornate crucifix, trimmed with dark red rubies and a single creamy pearl. Ben runs his thumb over the engraved ‘INRI’ as he begins winding the chain around his hand, finishing off by clutching the cross in the gap between his index and middle fingers.

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” he breathes. “My mother gave it to me the day I committed myself to the priesthood. I bet you could never guess how that ended.”

“I’ve heard rumours,” Unkar admits, his eyes glued to Ben’s. “Heard that someone may have had a little tantrum. You’re right though, about that cross your mama gave you. It’s a pretty little thing.”

“Pretty,” Ben muses. “I suppose it is. Do you think it’s pretty enough for a pretty boy like me?”

He brings the wrapped chain up to his mouth, brushes his lips against the crucifix and prays, _Forgive me, Father, for the sins I am about to commit._

Unkar opens his mouth to respond just as Ben strikes, slamming his fist right into the other man’s face. The onyx beads drag against the flesh of Plutt’s cheek, leaving little tears that immediately well up with blood while the tip of the cross grazes his eye socket. He lets out a shriek of pain that is instantly muted as Ben shoves the velvet pouch into his putrid mouth before punching him again. This time the cross partially embeds itself into Unkar’s flabby cheek and, when Ben yanks it free, the engraved filigree is drenched in scarlet.

There’s a sweet spot between rage and insanity. Ben’s not sure whether he’s passed it or not but, as he rams his beaded fist into the fat man’s face _over_ and _over_ and _over_ again, he knows that this is the closest he’s felt to peace in a very long time.

 


	21. Sanctuary

She realizes something isn’t right the second she sets foot into St. Joachim’s.

Perhaps it’s how nonchalant he was, or maybe it’s just the sick feeling in her gut that lets her know that Ben was acting a bit strange. Sure, _she_ was acting strange too, but she knows that and she knows why. Either way, her feet move of their own accord even as her brain is still trying to process the revelation she received earlier from Unkar.

She reaches the junkyard in a fraction of the normal time, her eyes scanning the vast piles of trash for Ben’s tall frame. Finding nothing, she jogs to the farthest corner of the yard, her heart thumping in her throat.

She can’t focus on the possibilities as she runs. Each glint of a potential situation make her feel like her legs are about to give out. Ben’s made progress, but half of her is expecting to show up to Unkar’s tent and find it burnt to the ground.

Turns out reality is much worse.

She bursts through the flap of the tent and recoils at the multisensory assault that greets her. The air inside smells of sweat and the sweet stink of fresh meat mixed with the stale heroin scent from earlier. It’s noticeably warmer and more humid, and the lighting is strangely yellow, illuminating the tent in an ethereal golden glow.

Ben is standing there, his back facing her, looming like an imposing silhouette over Unkar Plutt’s crumpled form. He’s hunched like he’s in pain, gasps of breath shaking his body as he pants with effort. Rey’s never seen him so dishevelled before; even from behind, she can see that his scarves are mussed, and his hair is sticky and greasy. His boots are caked in mud, which travels up his pant legs to at least his knees but the worst part, by far, is the blood.

Even through her experiences with her own injuries, she’s never seen so much blood. It’s so saturated in his clothing that she can see the scarlet over the black, see the rusty liquid seeping into the clay of the ground. And it’s not just blood, but gore as well, small chunks of skin and what appear to be tiny globules of fat are caked on his arm and covering the rosary clenched in his fist. There’s a puddle of blood and excrement pooling around Unkar’s prone body, and the spatters on the tent walls look like something out of a horror movie.

“Ben,” she breathes. “What have you done?”

He jerks around at the sound of her voice, shock written all over his face. “Rey,” he rasps. “What are you doing here?”

“I-I was checking on you. You seemed off and I-what happened?”

He backs away, and then she sees it fully. Unkar Plutt, or at least what used to be Unkar Plutt. He’s slumped over on his fur lined perch as usual, but his limbs are skewed at unnatural angles, and his head is craned back like he’s perpetually staring at the canvas ceiling. He’s still alive, thank God, she can see his shuddering breaths from her vantage point, however he’s obviously in need of immediate medical attention if he’s going to make it through the night. His face is devastated by tears and bruises and blood spurting from orifices blood isn’t supposed to exit from, and she can just make out the tiniest shards of ivory bone poking through the skin of his mangled fingers.

“Y-you did this?” she chokes. She’s not going to puke, but there is an angry swirl of nausea twisting deep in her belly.

Ben opens his mouth, then closes it, trapping his lower lip between his teeth as he searches for the right thing to say. The worst part is that there really _isn’t_ a right thing to say, only the truth, which he admits with a shrug. “Yes. Yes, I did this.”

“W-why?” She still can’t manage to speak without stuttering.

“Because of what he did to you.”

She frowns. “But you don’t-“

“I know I don’t know exactly what he did and, frankly, I don’t care. He hurt you, and that means that he deserves to suffer.”

Her face twists with confusion. “What do you mean? Ben, I’ve never said that he hurt me-“

“But he did!” Ben interrupts. “He _did_ hurt you. He took you when you were young and vulnerable and forced you to do things that you aren’t proud of. He was supposed to take care of you, and instead he took advantage of you!”

“I didn’t say that, I’ve never said that!”

“But that’s what _happened_!” There’s that look again, that wild-eyed madness of a man backed against the edge of a cliff, forced to acknowledge the reality of his situation. “He did things to you, _evil_ things, and he still walks free. That’s not right. It’s my responsibility to make sure that he pays for what he’s done, so that everyone knows that he can’t be trusted!”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“He _hurt_ you. You trusted him, and he hurt you. He ruined your life, ruined everything good, and I just wanted to make sure he paid for it.”

He stares at her, stares at the woman he’s claiming to protect and sees only strength and steel and concern.

And then he looks over at Plutt and, for a second, instead of a bloated pink body he sees a withered old shell of a man, a cane in one hand and a Bible in the other.

“Oh God.”

His knees hit the mud along with his rosary as he presses his bloodstained hands to his face in an attempt to quell the tears prickling against his eyelids. Rey is next to him in a second, her hands on his shoulders as tremors travel through him.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs as she rubs her hands up and down his arms. “It’s all going to be okay.”

“How can you say that?” He pauses to wipe mucus on the sleeve of his coat. “I just assaulted a drug lord in his own home. What is the situation where this is even close to being okay?”

Rey pauses, listens to the wind for any sign that they’ll be discovered, but it’s as silent as the grave. “Tonight will be quiet,” she explains. “It will give us plenty of time to figure something out. First off, though, we need to make sure you’re okay.”

Her shock from earlier has worn off in the face of Ben’s almost-meltdown. It’s amazing how the mind can compartmentalize things, focus so much on one issue until something more pressing roars into view. She still hasn’t forgotten Unkar’s story from before, or Ben’s murderous glare, but for now her only goal is to prevent further damage, and maybe go somewhere where the odor isn’t so prevalent. Somewhere she can think.

“We should leave.”

This isn’t what Ben’s expecting to hear. “Leave? But what are we going to do about...him?”

“I don’t know,” Rey huffs. “And that’s why we have to leave. I can’t even think here, and we certainly don’t want to get caught. Just because it’s quiet now doesn’t mean that someone won’t come poking around for a little holiday fix.”

“Besides,” she adds. “Maybe it will all work out by itself. Maybe someone will show up and think this was a hit planted by a rival gang.”

“Or maybe my DNA is all over him, and I’m fucked anyways,” Ben says bitterly. “And for what?”

“Hey! You thought-“ Her voice goes soft. “You thought he’d hurt me, and you did it to protect me. Not that I think it was the best idea, but still. It was kind of sweet, for you.”

“I meant for it to be. Not sweet, I mean, but...” He takes in a deep breath. Hand trembling, he reaches for his soiled rosary and stuffs it into his pocket. “I just wanted to show you how much I care about you. How much your wellbeing means to me. It hurts me that I can’t go back and make things easier for you.”

Rey’s still gripping him for dear life, her fingers digging into the wool of his jacket as she takes in his words. “Thank you, Ben,” she finally responds. “That means a lot to me. I’ve never-never had anyone care about me quite this must before, to be honest. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

Overwhelming is an understatement. It’s downright _terrifying_ to think about what might have happened to Unkar had she not shown up when she did. Though Ben’s actions aren’t her responsibility, she still can’t help but feel some guilt for being the catalyst for this particular explosion.

“Next time,” she hears herself say and- _no_ , why would there be a next time? This is a onetime unfortunate circumstance that should never happen again. Ben’s not going to make a habit of running around beating up street thugs; he’s a pastor, for God’s sake. Her brain scrambles for traction as her mouth continues. “Next time, please talk with me first before you take action. We’re a team now...we should act like one.”

“A team.”

“Yeah, a team. You and me against the world, it would seem.” She laughs nervously. “I mean, now that we’re technically both criminals, we should probably stick together.”

With a wince, he leans on his right knee and hoists himself up from the mud. Rey backs away as his tall form unfolds; his head almost brushes the ceiling of the tent, and she’s never felt so small.

“Me. A criminal,” he repeats, still facing away from her, still staring at Unkar’s prone form. 

Rey steps forward and grabs his blood-encrusted hand. “I’ve been a criminal since the age of seven. Trust me, it’s not that bad.”

He lets out a small cough of laughter. “If you say so, but I-“ He stops and shakes his head.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” she reassures him, squeezing his hand in hers. “But I do want to leave for a bit. I’m starting to feel like I actually might barf.”

The crisp winter air is exhilarating on their flushed faces as they exit the tent. Rey takes a moment to really look at Ben as he surveys the dusky landscape, to make sure he’s okay enough to move forward. He was never the most cheerful of men, but there’s a new wrinkle burrowed right between his eyes that indicates more worry and remorse than he’s let on. It’s reassuring, in a way, to know that she’s not currently holding hands with some sort of sociopath, but she’s still painfully aware of the fragility of his person, how one bad thing can be enough to make him shatter.

Luckily, the junkyard is even more deserted than it was earlier, the only movement coming from the dying sunlight reflecting off of the glittering frost. There seems to be no one around Plutt’s tent, or even close enough to have heard his muffled screams.

“There was a prostitute, earlier,” Ben mumbles, anticipating her thought process. “She saw my face.”

“Did she recognize you?”

“I don’t know.” His pulse is quickening, like it did earlier when he punched in the fat man’s head. “But I’m sure she could pick me out of a crowd.”

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t know; I wasn’t exactly focusing on her at that moment.”

There’s an edge to his voice as he teeters on the line between togetherness and, as Hux likes to call it, “another pile of mess.”

Rey backtracks. “Well, it’s no use worrying about it now. Just add it to the list of concerns along with Unkar’s putrefying body.”

“He’s not-“

“I know he’s not dead, you keep on bringing it up.”

“It’s _important_.”

It is important. The distinction between life and death is just one of the many binaries Ben clings to even as the world melts into shades of grey around him. Life and death, order and chaos, pleasure and discipline, sex and purity. He’s preached a relaxed doctrine, but even that is full of restrictions in its own way.

_Out with the old, in with the new._

_Overthrow routine to establish freedom._

_Liberation comes from understanding that God’s Will is synonymous with your own._

“But you hurt him.” Rey’s voice bites through the stillness of the night. “You hurt him, Ben, and that means something. Even if you hurt him for a good reason. And he might die from this.”

“There’s a good chance.” His breath is a ghostly puff against the darkening sky. “And I guess I’m going to have to live with that.”

His car is still parked on the edge of the junkyard. It’s a miracle that it’s still untouched, probably a holiday courtesy more than anything. Ben slides into the driver’s seat and just sits for a few seconds as Rey fiddles around with her seatbelt. He’s having that strange, out of body experience again, where he feels like he really should be somewhere else instead of sitting behind the wheel of his car like it’s just another night.

“So, where are we going to go?” Rey wonders. She seems so small in the passenger seat, her arms stiffly at her side and her head glued forward.

He sighs, peeling his gloves from his fingers and tossing them in the backseat before he rubs at his face. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I haven’t really thought any of this through.”

She snorts. “No kidding.”

The sun has almost fully set now, leaving the junkyard lit by only a couple of battered streetlights lining the perimeter. The trash piles are looming black shadows against the starlit sky, crude monuments to the ugliness around them. There’s a couple of scuffling shapes Rey can make out, but they’re small and concentrated for from Unkar’s tent. Just runners, probably, young ones by the look of things.

She runs her finger along the leather interior of Ben’s car. It’s surreal, really, how luxurious it is, especially when she’s wearing a threadbare coat and nun’s robes. She’s out of place in his world, too rough and broken to ever fit into the dark sleekness of his First Order Life but, as she looks over at his newly battered and bloodied form, she realises that perhaps now he’s a bit too broken as well.

With a huff, Ben suddenly starts the car and backs out onto the road. “It’s no good just sitting here waiting to get caught,” he mutters as he accelerates towards the highway. “At least if we’re moving we can give them a good chase.”

“Up to you,” she says, mesmerized by all the glowing buttons on the dashboard.

They’re almost out of town when she realises where they’re headed. It’s a different route than she’s used to but as soon as the smooth asphalt evolves to more word pavement, she understands.

“Really? There?”

Ben nods. “Do you know the origin of the word ‘sanctuary?’”

Rey shoots him a wry smile, and he stutters, “W-what? What’s so funny?”

“I don’t know, it’s just...you have really ‘taught’ me anything in a while. You made a big deal about being my teacher up on the mountainside and, well, _here we are._ ” She gestures to his bloodstained clothing. “It seems like you’ve learned just as much from me as I have from you.”

“The best teaching relationships are ones built on mutual learning,” he parrots.

“Could you be any lamer right now?”

“Hey, do you want to learn about sanctuaries or not?”

She softens. “Of course I do, Ben,” she says. “I’ve always loved learning from you.”

His eyes have wandered to her face over the course of their conversation. “And I’ve always loved-“ Abruptly, the car hits a bump in the road and his head jerks back to the front. “I mean, yeah, I’ve always enjoyed taking about new things with you. It’s a great way to get to know people too.”

Nodding, he stares at the twisting highway, his hands gripping the steering wheel a bit too hard. Rey sits and waits for a moment but, when he stays silent, she prompts, “So sanctuary?”

His eyes go wide. “Right! So sanctuary comes from the Latin word _sanctuarium_ , which refers to the place where holy things are kept. At the dawn of the last millennium, 1000 AD, churches were given the ability to grant asylum to criminals and refugees within their sanctuaries. It was a resting place, of sorts, a refuge where a person could assess their situation under the Church’s protection and make serious decisions regarding their future. It’s why churches used to never be locked; the sanctuary was God’s house, and open to all of his children to use whenever they needed it.”

“Now they’re always locked, it seems,” Rey adds. “I would know. I’ve broken into some before, in the winter when I needed the warmth. Nowadays, people are too worried about their computers and sound systems to even think to offer an open space, free of charge.”

“But the monastery...” Ben chuckles. “Unless Uncle Luke has thought to install locks on the doors.”

“No, no locks on the chapel itself,” she confirms. “We keep to the old ways. But it’s not like the nuns are going to welcome us with open arms, even if we are fugitives. This isn’t the thirteen hundreds.”

“But they aren’t going to be back for a few more hours at least, which gives us time to come up with a plan.” He’s thinking now, the anxious fog from earlier finally clearing as his brain switches to manic mode. “The monastery has a huge stockpile of food and other supplies we might need if-if we decide to run.”

“Run? You mean go on the road?” Rey stares at him like he’s gone insane. “You honestly think it’s going to come to that?”

“She saw my face, Rey! The hooker saw me, and Snoke’s starting an ad campaign for my new book in two weeks. I’m going to be on billboards, for God’s sake. Even if Plutt isn’t dead, he’s not going to let us get away with what I did to him, and it’s not like I lead the most anonymous life.”

“But-“

“I know.” He hangs his head, resigned.  “I know that it’s unfair of me to expect you to give up your life, especially because of something I did. Really, I don’t expect it. I want to be with you, of course I do, but I also understand that it wouldn’t be easy for you to leave the monastery.”

Her heart swells. “Yeah, that’s actually what I...what I was...”

“Look, I’m trying to not be such an irredeemable asshole.” His face softens. “Is it working?”

Rey hides her smile behind her sleeve. “You’re getting there.”

He goes over a couple more details on the way to the monastery, but her head is already back to before, back to Unkar Plutt and the rusty spike. As soon as they arrive, she grabs Ben’s hand and pulls him through the snowy trees and frosted garden, over the mosaic path right onto the wooden steps inside the chapel sanctuary.

Urging him to sit, she flicks on a lighter and lights two candles perched on ornate golden stands on either side of the alter. Nervously, she rubs her hands in her lap and joins him on the ground as he gets comfortable. He raises an eyebrow and asks, “Rey, what’s-?”

Her face is set with determination. “I need to tell you about what Unkar told me, and I’m pretty sure you’re not going to like it.”

He pauses, his lips a thin line on his face as he takes the time to process her statement. “But you said he didn’t hurt you?” he clarifies.

“Not tonight, no. But that’s the thing, that’s what I have to tell you.” She takes a deep breath, and then it all unravels. Every worry, every fear, every sick and secret thing that this revelation has unearthed in her spills out as she tells her story.

“I’ve told you before that Unkar wasn’t just my dealer, he was a bit of a caretaker as well. He’s pretty much taken care of me since I was a kid, even though I had to trade him for everything, but as I got older I became a liability for him; I wasn’t bringing in enough clients, and I was small enough that some of the other gangs thought I was an easy target. He didn’t trust me to move product quickly, but I think a small part of him still cared for me in his own weird way. He came up with this plan, he knew that someone would come and take care of me. That’s why...why he did it.”

“Rey, you’re still not making sense. What did he do?”

Her voice stalls. “I-I remember him finding it somewhere. The spike. I think he said one of his guys found it by the rails, said it had probably been around since they were built. He heated it in the fire and poured vodka on it to kill the germs, then he-he did it. And the worst part is that I told him he could. I was so frustrated with being in mule and the inevitability of becoming a prostitute that I told him he could do anything to me, as long as it would get me off the street.”

Ben’s deep brown eyes go wide as he grasps the meaning behind her story. “Rey, no, that’s not possible. That can’t be it.”

She forces her eyes closed, away from his pleading glaze, and shakes her head. “He did it, I remember now, now that I’ve been enlightened I can make out the memories through the haze of booze. He got one of his north side guys, I think his name was Billy, to hold me down and he took a hammer and-“

“That makes no sense,” Ben repeats. “Your chart said you lost so much blood, you almost died. How were you able to call 911?”

“Unkar dialled and propped me up,” she says in barely a whisper. “I passed out almost immediately after.”

“That still doesn’t make any sense.”

Rey groans with frustration. “It makes perfect sense, Ben! What _doesn’t_ make sense is how all of you hold on to this asinine notion that there is some possibility that I was actually touched by God! Like, have you ever listened to yourself talk about me? It’s crazy! How can I even live knowing what kind of expectations both you and your family have of me? How can I ever measure up to what you expect me to be?

Ben shakes his head furiously, clutching at gore encrusted cross in his pocket for comfort and an attempt to calm his jittery hands. “But-but everything I felt, Rey. That _we_ felt...”

“Why do you think I’ve been so confused?” She chokes out a laugh. “You said it best yourself when I first met you. Human emotions are strong and powerful, and they can manipulate things, for better or for worst. You wanted this, Ben. You wanted to feel something, something _good_ again. The truth is that I’m just a sad, desperate girl, who was willing to lie and hurt myself in order to get stomach full of food and a warm place to sleep.” Her laugh turns hysterical and she splutters, “Now I have those both in spades, and I’m willing to give it up again! For kisses and gropes in forests and empty churches. For a man who is afraid of being seen with me because he’s scared of what his _mum_ might think.”

“So you’re saying that you planned all of this from the very beginning.” He’s still shaking his head wilder and wilder with every second. Everything is disintegrating. “You knew that if you gave yourself these injuries that someone would pick you up and call my mother. You knew that I would hear about you and be interested, and you knew that I would want to spend time with you and eventually fall-“

“No, of course I didn’t think that, Ben! All I know is that I was trapped and miserable, and I wanted a way out of the junkyard, so I gave permission for Unkar to hurt me. I didn’t tell him what to do, and I certainly didn’t plan for all of this to happen. Hell, at that point, I half wished that he would just finish me off.”

He recoils. “Why would you ever think that?”

“Oh, like you’ve _never_ thought that.”

Ben bites back his retort, his mind flashing back to the day he called Snoke, that twisting insidious fear and self hatred behind every press of the button, the sensation of hearing himself say the words as he panicked, the feeling that his body was just a shell for the anger within. “I know the feeling,” he admits. “But you-“

“I’m not a saint, and I can’t have you think that I am. Not you. Not everything that we’ve been through.” Twisting the hem of her robe in her fingers, she looks up at him with mournful eyes. “You know too much about me to still keep me on a pedestal.”

A thick blanket of silence falls over the chapel as the two of them just sit, each pointedly avoiding the gaze of the other while their fingers remain entwined. Precious minutes tick away in the balance. The air of the chapel gets chillier every second as the strong north wind whirls around the stone walls of the monastery, forcing the crisp scent of winter through the tiny cracks in the stone.

“I’m sorry.”

Rey’s heart jumps. She drags her eyes away from a particularly interesting speck of dust on the floor, and slowly guides them up to stare at his mournful face. “You’re sorry?” she parrots. “Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.”

He licks his lips. “I know it’s not, but I’m sorry anyways. I’m sorry for accusing you of manipulating me and Uncle Luke and my mother. I know that this all just kind of happened, and I apologize for just turning on you like that.”

Her face softens. “It’s okay, Ben. I forgive you.”

“Thank you.” He pulls both of their hands up, brushing her knuckles against his lips in a chaste, apologetic kiss. “I suppose you know by now that I’m not the best at handling things, but I hope I’m getting better.”

 “I-,” He pauses, chewing on his lip as his brain struggles to find the right words. “I don’t want you to ever think that I only care about you because of the stigmata. I admit that that was the initial reason why you intrigued me, but from the moment we first met, I have been absolutely captivated by your grace and intelligence and your warrior’s spirit. You are a marvel, Rey, _just_ you, without the gifts and the robes and everything else.”

Her cheeks flush with pleasure at his confession and she thinks, for just a second, that she may not have totally ruined things.  It hardly seems possible.

“You’re a marvel too, Ben,” she whispers.  “I’ve never met anyone as absolutely dedicated as you, but you still manage to have your own set of morals, and you stick to them with such conviction. Even if they are a bit unconventional.”

He squeezes her hand and his eyes glitter in the darkness.  

“I wish I could kill the people who hurt you.”

A heart stopping expression flashes across his face and, for a moment, Rey understands what Poe used to mean by a ‘wildness’ inside of Ben. No matter how much he meditates or reads the Bible, there’s no way he can fully extinguish the blaze of passion that pushes him just a _bit_ too far.

But he tries, just for her.

“But most of all I wish I could take this." He raises her wrist to his lips and kisses the angry pink scar. “Whether it is self inflicted or from your old junk lord, or a sign from God, I just wish I could take it from you so that you can be free and whole again, like you deserve.”

“Ben...”

“I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true. I remember the day we talked about your vows and whether you should commit yourself to the Church, and you mentioned that I’ve never needed anything, that I was raised to have everything I wanted. It just seems unfair that you, the tough, resourceful scavenger, have to be stuck with these wounds and all the drama surrounding them, while I going around _making_ trouble for myself.”

“Ben...”

“But I’m here to tell you now that I’m done with it. All of it. I know I’ve said it before, and I know you have no reason to think it’ll be any different, but this time I mean it. I-I choose freedom, and I choose you.” He swallows, then nods his head once, twice, before admitting, “I love you, Rey. I’ve loved you since the moment you fell asleep next to me at the clearing, and I would do anything to stay with you forever.”

“ _Ben..._ ”

“And I know there’s no excuse for the way I’ve behaved the past couple of weeks. I should be stronger and wiser for you, and I swear that I’m trying, I really am.”

“Ben!” She reaches up and grabs his face in her hands. Her smile is radiant and her eyes are brimming with tears. “Ben, I love you too.”

“W-what?”

“I love you.” It’s easier to say than she expected. It feels good and right and _natural_ , and she has to bite her tongue to keep herself from repeating it over and over again.

“You love me,” he marvels.

“Yeah. And you love me.”

They sit like that, dumbstruck, for several moments. Ben can’t believe what he’s hearing; his scavenger, his _Rey_ , loves him, and he loves her. She’s stroking his cheeks and he’s clutching their waist, and they’re sitting at the foot of the altar in an ancient monastery chapel, illuminated by the stars and candlelight.

It would be perfect if it weren’t so heartbreakingly tragic.

Cradling her in his arms, Ben reaches down and brushes his lips against her forehead, her cheeks, her tearstained eyes, then tentatively strokes her lips. She gasps against him and wraps her arms around his neck so that he can stand up, his muscles clenching with the effort of hoisting both of them off the ground. Gently, ever so gently, he rests her on the wooden alter while she claws at his back, her small lips anointing his jaw and neck with kisses.

Even in her fairly utilitarian sexual history, she’s heard men say some pretty bizarre things during sexual encounters, but it’s still shocking to her when Ben suddenly pulls back, brushes her hair from her face, and whispers, “I’m going to marry you, you know that?”

Her stomach flips and, for one fleeting moment, she’s scared that she’s going to throw up. Luckily, his hand is still squeezing her hip, which focuses and clears her mind. “Ben, come on, don’t be silly,” she mumbles coyly. “You can’t marry me. I don’t even know if I legally exist.”

“So, we’ll figure it out. I’ll hire a private investigator who will track down your parents. I’ll pay someone to get you some papers. Whatever it takes.” He shakes his head and stares at her, his brow furrowed. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone else before. I want you to be my wife, Rey.”

_Wife._ The word is absolutely foreign to her sense of self. Despite his tempting offer to dig up her past and build her a future, she can’t shake the feeling that being a wife is just another prison, another set of shackles she’ll have to fight to break free of.

 “From that moment on the mountaintop, no- even from the moment I first met you, I’ve been _yours._ There is no one else for me.” Standing up straight, he takes a step back from her and solemnly vows, “You’re the woman I’ve been dreaming of my entire life, and I promise that I will spend every second I have left working to become the husband you deserve.”  

Sure, marriage is almost certainly a trap. But then she looks up at his face, sees the earnest adoration pouring from his eyes and the tremble in his lips, and feels warmth bloom in her belly despite her reservations.

Drawing her shoulders back, she catches the hem of her robes with her fingers and pulls it up over her head, revealing the thin tank top and leggings beneath. He’s about to say something, but she silences him with a look and starts peeling her pants off her legs. Flinging the offending garment off to the side, she wiggles out of her top and her bra, and then slides her underwear down tantalizingly slow, his eyes never leaving her hands as they make the journey down to her toes.

Finally, she’s bare before him, and she feels amazing. There’s no self-consciousness in her eyes, only openness and luminous love. She’s never been like this with anyone else before, never been totally naked and vulnerable, but she _trusts_ him, truly and deeply, almost more than she trusts herself.

His heart stutters. He’s seen her naked, but only in pieces, a breast here, a leg there, her silken pussy under voluminous black robes, but now it is clear to him that she is exponentially more beautiful than the sum of her parts. She’s a goddess, spread before him on the altar, ready to receive his worship.

“Ben, are you alright?”

Even though his mouth is hanging open, he can only nod. Her body is bathed in flickering candlelight, illuminating her lips, breasts, and freckled shoulders in tongues of fire. He knows he should savour this moment, savour _her,_ but he can’t control himself any longer and he descends, his mouth feasting on every inch of her skin as she threads her fingers into his hair and writhes beneath him.  

He’s barely aware of her fingers at his waistband, undoing his belt and tugging down his pants. “Tell me when to stop,” she mumbles against his lips, but he _can’t_ , even though his morals are screaming at him, because this woman is going to be his _wife_ one day and, if this isn’t right, then there’s nothing right left in the galaxy.

“Rey, I want to- I want to have sex with you,” he mumbles into her hair as her fingers dance along the waistband of his underwear. “Is that okay?”

A muffled laugh is her only response, though he swears he can make out a muttered ‘ _Finally’_ when she traces his jaw with her lips.

Within a minute, he’s fully nude as well, his remaining clothes joining hers in a heap on the floor. For all of her intricacies, Rey is first and foremost a scavenger, preferring straightforward stripping to long, drawn out teasing, especially when her blood is hot with anticipation. However, even her stark efficiency can’t hide the tremble behind her touch for, even though she’s no virgin, she’s entering uncharted territory tonight as well.

The chapel is characteristically chilly on this dark, winter night, but they both barely feel it, their skin so flushed and bodies entwined enough that every last bit of their awareness is tied up in each other, in the delicious feeling of bare chests brushing, lips teasing, and fingers digging into smooth, naked skin.

She wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him forward, pressing her warm core against his swollen erection. He chokes against her and stills for a second as his brain struggles to process the sensation, the wet, slippery closeness that he craves so much. He gives an experimental thrust against her and has to suppress the strangled gasp that escapes his throat when he feels her hands grip his bare ass. 

He wants to just take her _now,_ but even in his lust addled daze he knows that it’s not the way to do things. Instead, he drags the pile of clothes over with his foot and kneels, prostrate, before her. His large hands gentle guide her thighs farther apart as she leans back, her hair tumbling down her back like a lewd shadow of her veil. He sighs, for he feels so at home here between her legs, ready to worship her with his lips and tongue.

His first touch sends a shiver of pleasure down her back. Rey grips the altar’s worn wooden surface as Ben strokes her inside and out with his talented tongue. Her deep moan shocks both of them with its intensity as it echoes off of the chapel ceiling, magnified tenfold. A thrill runs through her and she moans louder, unhindered by potential eavesdroppers, letting herself slowly unravel under Ben’s mouth as he runs his lips against the junction of her thighs.

He’s only done this a few times before, but Ben’s a quicker study than most. He knows when to tease her folds with the tip of his tongue and when to graze her entrance with his finger. He’s not shy either; he brushes his nose against her clit as he buries his lips in hers, and the sensation of being surrounded by her slick, musky folds makes his dick throb and leak.

She arches up as he runs his tongue down her thigh, his thumbs rubbing against her hips while he slowly laves hot, open mouthed kisses in a trail down to her pussy. He groans against her, his shuddering breath blowing puffs of air against her swollen core, which in turn send little fissures of pleasure up her spine. It’s a beautiful dance, the way her pleasure increases his, and vies versa, and she finds her satisfaction amplified every time he pauses to take a breath, every time he gives his dick a relieving squeeze, and every time he gazes up at her with dark, lust filled eyes.   

The muscles of her legs start shaking as her body tenses. Her mouth drops open, and she’s moaning his name like a mantra above him, “Ben, Ben, Ben,” as he swirls his tongue faster and firmer around her centre. Gripping the edge of the altar, she presses herself against his face, so close she can almost taste it, wrapping her right hand around his head so that she can bury her fingers against his scalp as she sails higher and higher and-

His tongue stills. Rey shudders with unresolved tension as Ben scoots away and hoists himself back onto his feet.

“W-what?” she mumbles. “What are you doing?”

He gives her a cheeky grin. With slow, methodical steps, he approaches until he’s standing between her legs, his body flush against the altar. He rests his hands on either side of her shaking form and brushes his lips against the shell of her ear as he whispers, “How are you feeling right now?”

Her body is buzzing with anticipation, so much so that the lightest touch of his lips against her ear sends a thrill of pleasure coursing through her veins. She feels like every single nerve in her body is begging to be touched, to be teased and relished by this amazing man in front of her. “I feel...” She squeezes her eyes shut and lets the sensation overwhelm her. “I feel _alive._ ”

She cranes her neck and captures his lips in a heart wrenching kiss. Her fingers twine into his dark curls while his travel lower, brushing against her freckled shoulders, the soft swell of her breasts, and the sweat glistened plane of her abs. He takes a moment to rub his thumb against the junction of her hip and her thigh until she squirms against him like he knows she will. Even lower still, he slicks his fingers against her glistening folds, careful to avoid the over sensitized bud at her centre, then slowly eases his index finger into her. His brain nearly short circuits when he feels how hot and tight she is, how perfectly ready she is for him, and his dick twitches with anticipation against his belly.

“Rey, are you-are you ready?” he asks against her neck.

“Just-just a bit mo-“ He adds a second finger, and her thoughts are cut off by a low moan that rumbles deep in her chest. Ben’s just about to burst, but he has to make sure she’s ready first. He’s got no delusion that he’s going to last particularly long, and he wants to make sure that this is as perfect for her as it is for him.

Finally, she tugs his hand away and rubs herself up against his weeping erection, coating him in her slick juices. He pauses, gathering his remaining wits enough to meet her gaze. Her brown eyes glitter back at him in the flickering candlelight, filled with equal parts warmth, affection, lust, and most importantly, love.

He reaches down and cradles her neck in his hand. She’s so small, but so strong, so much stronger than he’ll ever be, and she loves him entirely. She truly is God’s greatest gift to him, better than all the money, success, and tongues he’s relied on his entire life.

“I love you,” he confesses against her lips, and he does, body mind and soul. She’s everything his heart has ever craved; she fills every nook and cranny of broken self. Before her, his life was dark and stark and now, his life is a glowing pathway full of new possibilities, a life that may actually be worth living. 

She smiles and reaches down to guide the tip of his cock into her wet and ready passage as he suppresses a whimper. Pressing his forehead to hers, he slowly, _slowly_ eases himself inch by inch into her warmth until he’s flush against her. There he pauses, twitching with the effort of holding back the cresting wave that’s threatening to undo him. It’s overwhelming, the feeling of being held in the most intimate embrace with her wet fingers gripping his shoulders and her legs wrapped around his waist. She’s so soft and wet, and her walls squeeze him so perfectly that he’s having a hard time remembering why he’s waited for this for so long.

He thrusts once, his back muscles rippling, and then he has to pause again because he’s so damn _close_ , so he licks the pad of his thumb and reaches down to circle her already swollen clit. She moans into his neck, that delicious tension creeping into her limbs as her body picks up where it left off, now with the increased sensation of being stretched and filled by a man so consumed with pleasure, he’s shivering against her.

No, not just a man. _Ben._

“I love you t-too,” she gasps open mouthed, throwing her head back as the first twinge of her orgasm bubbles through her body.  “Ben, Ben, _please_ ,” she begs, and at that he lets go, clutching her to him as he jerks against her until his vision goes white and his entire body tenses. He can still feel her walls gripping his dick as he comes, filling her with a rush of wetness and skin searing heat, and he can swear that, for a second, even the candles flicker from the force of it.

She’s the first to move, even as his sweaty face is still nestled in the crook of her neck. Like a drunk, he stares at her wearing the most dumbfounded expression she’s ever seen, his eyes still dopey with bliss.

“C’mon, let me down,” she urges, a hint of laughter at the edge of her voice. Nodding obediently, he pulls out of her with a groan, then encircles her small form in his arms and eases them both to the ground.

They lie there for minutes or hours, she’s not actually sure, until she feels her skin go clammy and a crick develop in her neck. She’s not old by any means, but she still knows that falling asleep on ancient wooden stairs is a bad idea, no matter how young you are.

“Ben,” she whispers, poking him in the chest. When he doesn’t respond, she jabs him harder and hisses, “Ben, wake up!”

“Y-yeah, ah!” His eyes fly open. He jolts when he takes in the familiar surroundings, the carved masonry and festive banners still fluttering on the chapel walls. “ _Shit!_ Is someone-?”

“No,” she reassures him. “No one will be back for an hour at least. I was just thinking that maybe you might like to spend the rest of your time here in something a bit more comfortable like, say, a bed?”

He wrinkles his nose, smiling. “You want me in your bed?”

“Oh my gosh, don’t make this weird,” she teases. “Now let’s get out of here, I’m freezing.”

Without another word, he sits up and pulls on his pants as she lies back, watching. Even stubbly and dishevelled, he’s still the most handsome man she’s ever seen in her life, or at least that’s what her sex-addled brain is telling her. He crouches over to extinguish the candles, displaying the broad stretch of his shoulders and chest illuminated in the firelight until a little puff of breath, and they’re thrown into darkness.

Their aching, jellylike legs somehow carry them down the hall and into her tiny bedroom. Rey throws back the curtains to expose the glittering landscape outside, which illuminates the space with moonlight reflected off of snow. She dumps their discarded clothes to one side and hops onto her bed, a small part of her brain wondering how on Earth they’re both going to fit on the modest twin sized mattress.

“This has been the most intense night of my life,” Ben sighs from the other side of the room. The post-sex haze has worn off and now he’s agitated, running his fingers through his messy hair. “The best and the worst.”

Rey props herself up on her elbow, her eyes glinting mischievously in the pale moonlight. “Who says it’s over yet?”

His heart thumps wildly in his chest as she beckons him to the bed with a crook of her finger. “Ah, ah,” she cautions just as he’s about to slide onto the mattress. “No pants allowed.”

By the time he’s divested himself of the offending garment, she’s hoisted herself up on her knees, so he rests his own knees on the mattress and shuffles towards her. Her hair is a mass of unruly brown waves, so tantalizing and erotic compared to the stark white veil of her nun’s habit, and he can even see small purple bruises emerging from where he was a bit too enthusiastic during their previous encounter.  His brain nearly short circuits when she grips his thighs with her hands and guides him over her body, one knee on either side of her chest as she shimmies up against her pillows so her mouth is level with his dick.

It only takes a gust of her breath against the sensitive skin there before his cock twitches back to attention. “Oh my God,” he groans at the sensation of being enveloped in her soft wet mouth, her fingers digging into the flesh of her ass as she edges herself down his length, her soft lips and tongue dragging ever so slowly, sinfully, down then back up.

“I’ve been dreaming about this for a while,” she breathes, her lips pressed against his tip. “Thank you.”

“Thank _me_ -?” he chokes out as the image of her lying in bed, touching herself as she dreams of sucking him off nearly gives him a heart attack. Then he glances down and watches as his thick cock slides in and out of her willing mouth, her tanned and freckled cheeks stained with a blush that’s halfway down her shoulders, and _yes_ , this is it, this is heaven on Earth. Nothing he’s ever felt before can quite compare to the raw intimacy of surrendering entirely to someone else’s touch, even as she’s fully dedicated to dragging him to ecstasy herself.

The contrast between her hot mouth and the cool air in her bedroom is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. It makes his chest thump and his legs shake and, before long, he can’t help but lean his trembling hands on the wall above as her gripping fingers guide his hips in and out in a rhythm that’s driving him dangerously close to the edge again.

“Rey, _Rey_ , I’m going to-“ he whines. A thrill of pleasure at his rawness of his voice makes her pussy clench, and she intensifies her efforts, her eyes never leaving his as she teases his balls with her fingers, drags her tongue along the underside of his cock, doesn’t stop as he pants _yes, yes, yes_ above her until he stills and hot, salty spurts rush into her waiting mouth.

“Ahh-“ His voice, normally so deep and even, cracks with the intensity of his orgasm. Limbs suddenly jelly, he slumps down next to her, the bed creaking under his weight. Rey laughs, a light tinkling sound that’s so out of place in the cloud of heavy exhaustion that’s clouding his senses.

But it would seem that she’s not done with him yet. Now it’s her turn to mount him, her slim thighs resting on either side of his hips as she strokes his limp dick with her wet and swollen folds. His cock gives a half hearted  twitch, then gradually swells again, not to the extent that it was previously, but just enough for Rey to ease herself down onto his length as she lazily swirls her finger over her clit.

Ben’s practically boneless; it’s all he can to keep his hands on her waist as she slowly rides him, her head thrown back, hair streaming down her back, lips plump and open, lazy strokes on her nipple, abs _flexing_ , skin _glowing_ , fingers _teasing_ , breath _panting_ , a high _keening_ wail and _yes._

He was wrong before. Lying beneath her as her lithe form quakes above him, holding her steady as she pants his name through her orgasm, this, _this_ is _heaven._

Sated and finally finished, she buries herself beneath the covers as Ben spoons her still quivering body. Her eyes are drawn to the view outside her window where the a couple scattered flakes of snow have begun to fall from the sky.

“Merry Christmas,” Ben whispers into her ear, leaning up just high enough to press a kiss to her cheek. “And Happy Birthday.”

“How did you-?”

“Finn told me,” he admits. “While I was being an asshole. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten you anything.”

She’s spent the majority of her life surrounded by the artefacts of materialism, and he’s apologizing for giving her only the most amazing experience of her life. “You’ve given me more than enough.”

The snow starts to fall harder, thicker, until it’s blowing flurries across her window. In the back of his mind, Ben knows he has to leave soon, lest his sporty car get stuck on one of the back roads, but his hormone soaked brain can’t seem to motivate his tired muscles into moving. And the feeling of Rey’s body against his is so delicious that his most likely impaired mind reasons that spending a night with her is probably worth the risk of being stranded and caught.

“I love you,” he mumbles into the back of her neck, twining his arms around her. “I would do anything for you.”

“I know.” A flash of him from earlier pops into her brain, of him bloody and wide-eyed and she shudders involuntarily. True, she can never forget what she saw earlier tonight, but she can also never forget the look of pure adoration in his eyes as he gave himself to her, fully and truly. To love him is to accept both, man and monster, and she can only wish that she will one day love all parts of him just as much as he will love all of her.

He’s muttering something else into her neck now, his voice scratchy with fatigue. It sounds like a prayer, hushed whispers blending into low guttural noises in his throat. There’s no air of the supernatural this time; no sticky blood or smell of oranges, just a warm, fuzzy feeling that makes her limbs feel relaxed and her eyelids heavy.  

Six hours later, she’s awoken by the smell of copper and a single, bloodcurdling scream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, this was hard to write. I'm so happy for my babies, but sad too because we're so close to saying goodbye! At least we're getting some resolution...sort of? :(  
> Thank you to every single one of you who has commented and kudos-ed. I honestly wouldn't be able to do this without all of you.


	22. Veritas

The early morning air is tinged with the sharp, coppery smell of fresh blood. The day’s first light, reflected off the freshly fallen snow outside, glitters and sparkles over the sea of red slowly spreading across pristine white bed sheets. Eyes still struggling to adjust to the fresh sunlight shining through the open window, Rey squints at the squirming, groaning mass situated next to her in bed.

It’s a testament to the seriousness of the situation that she barely has a chance to register the reality that she’s naked in bed, leaking all sorts of fluids, after having sex with her lover in a _monastery_ , of all places, but it’s easy to be distracted when said lover is currently screaming in pain and covered in blood.

Too much blood.

She does the only thing she can think to do.

“Help! HELP!”

Ben moans in agony, drips of blood mingling with the tears marking rivulets down his face. Rey moves to brush his hair out of his eyes, but he hisses at the contact so she draws back, curling in on herself.

She at least remembers to wrap herself in a sheet so that when Sisters Mary, Martha, and Ruth burst into her room a second later they are only assaulted by one naked body and not two. The fact that the naked body is currently writhing in pain, drenched in blood, and Ben Solo’s makes the situation shocking enough.

The younger sisters scream in shock and cower against each other, while Sister Mary stares wide eyed at the scene. She knows she needs to act but is frozen in place by the carnage in front of her. “Rey,” she breathes, “What have you _done_?”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear,” Rey blubbers, tears streaming down her face. “I just woke up and he was like this.”

Mary whirls around to the other two. “Sister Martha, I need you run to the monastery and call 911, then wake Father Luke and bring him here. Ah ah!” She holds up a finger to silence the younger nun’s protest. “Now is not the time for propriety. Sister Ruth, go to the linen closet and bring as many sheets as you can carry. Once you’ve done that, get one of the younger sisters to start boiling some water, but do not tell them what is going on here, and do not let them into this room.”

“What should I do?” Rey gapes, her shaking hands struggling to hold on to the sheet.

Rolling her eyes, Mary reaches over to the bedside table and retrieves Rey’s rosary. She thrusts it into the young woman’s hands and barks, “What you should have done _before_ you got into this mess. Pray!”

There’s so much blood; the sheets are so red and sticky it’s hard to tell where the bed ends and Ben begins. Mary positions herself at his side and uses the clean ends of the sheet to wipe away the blood crusted against his face. His hand, torn and matted with gore, reaches up and tugs her habit enough that a few stray curls of greying red hair escape around her forehead.

“Mara,” he moans, “Help me, Auntie Mara, please.”

Mary’s eyes flick over to Rey, who is holding her rosary to her lips and watching the scene unfold with wide, tense eyes. The older woman looks down, as if to indicate that _now is not the time_ for explanations, then turns back to her ‘patient.’ “Hush, Ben. It’s going to be alright. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But I’m dying, Auntie Mara. I swear, I’m going to die. Where’s Rey? I need Rey.”

Rey drops her rosary and moves to the bed, but Mary holds her back with an outstretched hand.  “Benjamin Jacen Solo, snap out of this! Haven’t you put that poor girl through enough already? Now calm down and get yourself together. And you!” She glares at Rey. “What did I tell you about praying?”

Rey’s barely through her second round of ‘Hail Marys’ when the two younger sisters arrive back in the room, with Father Luke hot on their heels.

“What’s going on here? Oh!”

His normally striking blue eyes go startlingly wide as he takes in the scene: his protégé, nude, kneeling in a bloodstained sheet praying the rosary. The sisters, in various states, of dishevelment, ripping a mound of bed sheets into strips. And, last but not least, his estranged nephew, naked as the day he was born, whimpering like a baby, covered in blood and torn flesh.

“Ben? Oh, my good Lord Jesus,” he whispers. His right leg threatens to give out from the shock, so he leans up against the stone wall for support. “Sister Mary, could you please explain? Something?”

“It’s my fault,” Rey admits hoarsely through a mouthful of sobs. “He just showed up and I...we...”

“They fornicated last night here in the nunnery,” Mary deadpans as she presses a cloth to Ben’s forehead.

Luke shakes his head, eyes still wide as saucers. “Okay.  Well I guess that covers part of it, but the blood? I can assume that help has been contacted?”

“I called 911,” Sister Martha responds. “Sister Constance is still on the phone with them. They said they’re going to be delayed because of the snow.”

Hearing the news, Ben groans, his body arching off the bed. Clutching her bed sheet between her trembling fingers, Rey crawls over to his side and kneels next to the bed.

“Ben, it’s going to be all right, okay? You’re going to get through this, I promise.” Ignoring Sister Mary’s disapproving eye, she strokes his face with her shaking hand. He mirrors her, his dripping fingers leaving a streak of blood down her face.

Luke gasps. “Sister Mary, do you see?” He points to Ben’s outstretched arm.

The older woman matches the priest’s stare. Grabbing a fresh, damp cloth, she gently dabs the blood and torn flesh from Ben’s wrist to reveal a deep, clean puncture wound.

“No,” Rey mumbles, eyes brimming with fresh tears when she seeks the mark. “That’s not right, it can’t be.” Frantic, she paws at the sheets covering his body until she reveals an oozing red gash on his left side, staining the sheets and mattress a brilliant scarlet.

“No, no, no, no,” she says with disbelief, moving lower down to uncover his thrashing feet. Again, she finds the telltale holes on each. Shaking, she pulls the sheet back from her own wrist to compare, only to find that his wounds are in the same places as the shiny pink scars she’s come to accept over the past couple of months.

“How...?” Wordlessly she holds her arm out to Father Luke, who grasps it in his shaking hands.

“This is...Rey, how did this happen?”

Her mouth just hangs open, words not quite making it to the tip of her tongue.  It doesn’t make _sense,_ this shouldn’t be happening. They’d figured it out last night; the stigmata weren’t real, just an unfortunately bad decision that led her on the right path, so how on Earth is any of this possible? How on Earth did Ben end up marked, just as she had been?

“I don’t know, okay? Last night, Ben said he wished he could take it all; my markings, my suffering, my pain...but he can’t actually do that, right?”

Father Luke’s face goes slack with shock. “I’m not even sure what Ben can or cannot do. This is beyond anything I have ever seen or experienced before. I’ve never- never seen transference like this before. With Anakin...with my _father,_ his wounds reopened sometimes, just like yours, but they never-“

“That’s all beside the point,” Sister Mary interrupts, a bloody cloth dangling from her hand. “Ben’s here, and he’s bleeding, and frankly it doesn’t really matter how it happened at this point because the ambulance isn’t going to show up for anytime soon and, well,  I’m not a doctor, but the amount of blood loss here doesn’t look healthy.”

“ _Luke? Luke, what’s going on_?”

A familiar gravelly voice calls out from down the hall. Father Luke freezes, his eyes clenching shut with an almost painful wince. “Oh no, I forgot-“

Instantly, Mary jumps up and slams the door shut right before Leia can peek her head into the room. Rey turns on Luke, eyes wild. “What’s _she_ doing here?”

“The director has spent every Christmas here at the monastery since-“ Sister Mary’s eyes flick down to Ben. “- _it_ happened. You would have known this had you spent last night at mass instead of participating in _other_ activities.”

“Now is not the time for chastising Rey, Mary, not while my nephew is bleeding out in front of us.” Father Luke’s hands are shaking as he reaches for a clean rag. “So if you can’t say anything positive, please do us all a service and reserve your words for prayer.”

The older nun’s eyes flash with anger. “Luke-“

“We need to _do_ something,” Rey blurts out. Four sets of eyes swivel over to her. “We can’t just leave him like this. His arms and legs should be higher than his heart, and we might even have to give him a tourniquet.”

Sisters Mary and Martha just stare at her quizzically, but Father Luke snaps into action. “Okay then! Mary, Martha, you heard the girl. Let’s see if we can prop him up somehow. Rey, what do you know about tying a tourniquet?”

She cringes. “I know that it can cause nerve damage if done improperly.”

Ben lets out a horrifically strangled groan, then falls back against the bed in a dead faint. Father Luke stares at him for a moment, then comments, “It’s probably for the best. Now he won’t be squirming around as much.”

 Sister Ruth, always quieter than the rest, pipes up from close to the doorway. “Father Luke?” Her dusty hazel eyes are growing rounder as every second progresses. “Father Luke, Sister Constance is at the door. She says there’s someone here.”

Luke takes a long look at the two foot snowdrifts outside the bedroom, then whips his head around to face her. “Here? _Now_?”

“ _You need to come out here, Father._ ” Sister Constance’s voice is muffled through the wooden door. “ _It’s Mr. Snoke, from the First Order.”_

A perceptible chill runs through the room, unrelated to the swirling flurries outside. Sister Mary locks eyes with Luke and hisses, “Snoke’s here? How does he know?”

The priest stares up at the ceiling and slowly shakes his head. “Lord, sometimes you just know how to push my buttons...”

With a sigh and a groan, he hoists himself up from Ben’s bedside. Taking in a deep breath, he gives Rey a fleeting smile and shuffles over to the door, tentatively opening it with a gentle hand. Leia has left the hallway, mercifully, and he’s only faced with the quivering form of Constance, who is shivering in her house coat, clutching her cross to her lips.

“Father Luke, what should we-“

He silences her with a look. “Constant prayer, sister. And don’t stress.” He squares his shoulders, his eyes flashing with intensity. “I can handle an old man.”

The front door takes only a minute to reach, but that one minute stretches before Luke like an eternity. He doesn’t make a habit of entertaining strangers at his monastery, personal space and all that, and he’s even less likely to accept fundamental enemies showing up announced, but the words of Christ stick in his head and temper his lips.

_Whatever you do not do for the least of these, you do not do for me._

Girding himself against the doorframe, he says one more tiny prayer and opens the door. The cold winder wind swirls into the warm refuge of the monastery, sending a flurry of tiny snowflakes swirling around the hunched figure in front of him.

“Reverend Snoke.”

“ _Father_ Luke.” The wizened old man scoffs the title, his voice dripping with distain.

“What brings you to our monastery? And on Christmas, no less? I would imagine that you must have family that are missing you right now.”

Father Luke sweeps an arm into the entry way. The welcoming gesture makes his arm feel like it’s made of lead. Snoke sniffs, but deigns to slink in, the door slamming behind him.

“Don’t play games with me, Skywalker. I know you’re keeping Kylo Ren here just like how I know you sent that girl of yours to seduce him.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Grimacing, Snoke pulls a thin black cell phone from his pocket and brandishes it at the priest. On the screen is a black and white map with a flashing marker indicating the spot not ten feet from where Luke is standing.

“You put a GPS on him?” he chokes, incredulous. “Does he know about this?”

Snoke doesn’t even dignify the question with a response and instead straightens up his bony frame and asserts, “I know Kylo is in there, old man, now let me through before I call the police.”

“You have no reason to call the police, not that they could even make it here through all of the snow. Ben is my nephew, and he’s just stayed the night so that he can spend Christmas morning here with his family. There is nothing sinister or suspicious about this situation.” Luke lies through his teeth, his thumb and index finger rubbing at the cross around his neck as he speaks.

“And I’m just supposed to take your word for this? Kylo Ren didn’t show up to our Christmas Eve service yesterday. His assistant last saw him leave in his car dressed like a hobo before dinner, and he hasn’t been seen since. Now it’s Sunday morning, the church will be full in three hours, and our pastor has decided he’s going to neglect his duties to spend time with family he hasn’t talked with in over ten years? I can imagine you can understand why this is leaving me suspicious.”

Snoke’s rant is interrupted but a scuff of shuffling feet from behind both men. They turn, and are met by Director Organa, who stares at them both wearing her bunny slippers and a scowl.

“Can one of you two old farts explain what the hell is going on right now?” she grumbles. “I’ve already had two doors slammed on my face, and it’s not even seven AM. Let me tell you, it’s a very unpleasant way to start off Christmas Day.”

“I apologize for that, Leia,” Luke wheedles as Snoke just crosses his arms and huffs. “I just panicked; you know I’m not the best at coming up with things on the fly.”

“Your son is here, _Director_ ,” Snoke drones out. The frustration melts from Leia’s face, only leaving shock and a small sneer for the loathed reverend. “Your son is here, and your brother is trying to keep you from him.”

“Come on, that is _obviously_ not true.”

“It’s true, Leia. Ben’s here but he’s-“ He struggles to find the right words. “-he’s not in the best state for you to see him.”

“The best state? Luke, I changed that boy’s diapers! I nursed him through the flu. How could you ever think that I wouldn’t be able to handle whatever state he’s in! He’s my _son_ , Luke. He’s _Han’s_ son!” Her voice cracks with desperation. “I don’t care what he’s done, I just need to see him.”

Snoke’s eyes flick between the twins, his thin tongue licking his lips in anticipation. But, instead of a fight, Luke just nods his head in concession. “Fine. Follow me.”

It’s a morbid scene that greets them when he opens the door. Blood dribbled on the ancient floor, rags strewn all over, Sister Mary, sweating with exertion as she attempts to wipe the worst of the blood from Ben’s abdomen. His limbs are now bound with strips of bloodied bed sheet, and his pelvis is just barely hidden under a blanket.

Sister Mary’s face whips to the door at the intrusion, her green eyes blazing. “Ruth, Martha, time to leave.” The dismissed nuns slink out behind the new visitors even as Mary’s eyes narrow, appraisingly.“What’s going on here?”

Luke catches Leia as she’s about to fall on the floor in shock. It’s her son, alright, naked and bloodstained and passed out with Rey wrapped in sheets at his feet. “Ben-my baby, what happened, whats-?”

Snoke lets out a roar of rage. “What have you _done_ to him?” He can barely see over Luke’s shoulder, but he can see enough to know that his biggest investment has been compromised. “Who attacked him?”

“No one attacked him,” Luke groans out through gritted teeth. “He’s just-“

“Okay, we need to stop this circus right now.” Sister Mary unfolds herself from her crouched position next to the bed and faces the intruders, her features contorted into a menacing expression. “Everyone needs to _get out_.”

There’s a pause, and then everyone starts protesting.

“You can’t tell me what to-“

“He’s my _son,_ Mara, don’t you forget-“

“What makes you think you’re more qualified to-“

“I’m not.” She puts her foot down. “I’ve done the best that I can for Ben, so I’m leaving too. The ambulance is on his way, and he need to rest. What he doesn’t need is any awkward family reunions or meetings with his employer.” She glares at Snoke. “And exactly what _are_ you doing here, anyway?”

The wrinkled old man stares up at her, his eyes narrowed. “I’ll have you know that I have taken that boy under-“

She waves her hand in front of his face. “I don’t actually care. Rey can stay with him; the rest of us need to leave.”

Father Luke lets out a squeak of protest. “Do you think it’s wise to leave them together...unsupervised?”

She lets out a bark of laughter. “ _What’s_ going to happen, Luke? Seriously? What can happen in there that hasn’t already happened? Like I said, the ambulance is on his way. You can all act concerned and gawk once the actual professionals show up.”

It’s a small miracle, but she manages to herd all of the onlookers out the door without a peep. Once, they’re in that hall, however, they start complaining again, consideration for Ben’s state forgotten once they’re outside of his immediate vicinity. Sister Mary fixes Rey with the sternest look possible before she shuts the door. The younger girl opens her mouth to comment, but is silenced.

“Rey, just-“ Sister Mary pauses, a pained expression on her face. “-just _don’t_.”

But, just before she closes the door behind her, she slips in a small wink.

The angry voices from down the hall fade away into nothingness, a gift of peace amongst the chaos of the morning. Rey lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and clutches Ben’s blood flaked hand in her own.

“I know you’re awake. I saw you smile when Mary kicked everyone out.”

Her breath catches in her throat as he slowly opens his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she breathes. “You think you’re going to make it?”

An exhausted groan bubbles up from his chest, but it’s accompanied by a small smile. “Yeah, I think I’ll manage, for now at least. You’re a better nurse than you look.”

She shrugs. “I’ve had a lot of practice, and apparently so has Sister Mary.”

“You have no idea. If we get through this day, you should ask her about her past. It’s pretty wild.”

Rey lets out a little hum of acknowledgement, then raises his hand to her lips, brushing his knuckles in a gentle kiss. His eyes close for a moment, savouring the touch.

“I don’t regret it,” he admits.

“What?”

“The sex.” Even splattered in his own blood, Ben manages to blush. “I don’t regret it at all. I mean, there was a second or two where I thought that this was all God’s punishment for me having sex before I’m married.”

Her eyebrows fly up. “But you don’t think that any more, do you?”

He gives a raspy chuckle. “No, of course not. But it’s not just a random incident either.”

“Not just any old random spontaneous bloodletting,” she teases initially, but sobers when her eyes drift to his arms, wrapped in the ratty strips of bed sheet. “How do they feel? Do you think you’re going to be fine?”

“Well, I don’t think I’m going to _die_ , if that’s what you’re asking.”

Rey fixes him with a deadpan stare. “It is, and I’m glad to hear it. We’ve been through too much already for you to just go and die on me.”

“Especially now that we’re so close.”

“Close to what?”

Ben pauses and takes a moment to test each one of his fingers, wiggling each tip until he’s satisfied with their performance. “Close to, I don’t know, _freedom,_ or something like that? For a while I’ve had a strange feeling that this is all linked to something more. Your wounds, my tongues, the way things happen when we’re together...even one of the first visions we had, the one where the world fell away. Do you remember it?”

She laughs. “Remember it? How could I ever forget it?”

Ben gives her a smile that’s almost sad around the edges. “So much has changed since then. I’ve dragged you down a dark path, but I think I know how to escape. At least, I have a hunch.”

“A hunch?” She frowns. “Everything is relying on a hunch?”

“A good hunch,” he clarifies. Taking in a deep breath, he explains, “Last night I had a dream...I was _there_ Rey, the night when _it_ happened, with Unkar and the spike, and I saw _everything_.”

“What?” Her stomach clenches at his words. “But what do you mean you were there? You mean that you dreamt it up after I told you, right?”

He shakes his head. “No, I mean I was actually _there._ I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out. It was you, Unkar, and some skinny freckled guy in a ratty jean jacket with leopard print patches and a missing front tooth.”

It’s impossible, of course, but her skin still crawls when Ben describes Billy _perfectly_. It’s a coincidence, it _has_ to be. Her mind is screaming at her that there’s no way he could ever actually know what happened that night, but her heart prompts her to just nod, urging him on.

“You were gathered around a campfire late at night, and it was like you said. Unkar held the spike into the fire until it was red-hot, then dumped half a bottle of alcohol on it. The skinny man said it was a waste, but Unkar chastised him as the flames licked the spike, told him that he had to do it so that you wouldn’t get blood poisoning.”

Ben’s voice is getting faster as he continues, his cheeks flush with excitement as he recalls the dream. “Then he drove it into you, into all of the points as the skinny man held you down. The sounds-“ He pauses and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat a couple of times before he continues. “-the sounds you made were horrifying. You were screaming at him to stop, that you changed your mind, that you would do _anything_ , but he was relentless.”

The scars itch at his words, ghosts of some phantom pain from months ago. Rey can barely breathe, barely speak, but she manages to choke out, “So it was him.”

Instead of frowning, Ben just smiles. “It was, but that’s not the amazing part. You see...you _died_ Rey. They dragged you to the phone booth, and you lost _so_ much blood on the way. Once you were set up, Unkar checked your pulse and he found nothing. The skinny man too, both of them checked your pulse and checked for any breath or heartbeat and found _nothing_.”

Her heart thunders in her chest. “W-what do you mean I _died_? How is that possible? They must have been mistaken, they were pretty stupid, you know.”

“No, you were dead, I could _feel_ it. They stayed with you for a few minutes until the cops drove past, and then you were still for a few minutes more.” His eyes flash with excitement. “Then I walked over to you and touched your neck, just to check, and you had gone cold and there was no pulse, just like they said, so I dialled 911 on the payphone and- and you woke up. You asked me if I was-“

“- an angel,” she finishes. “All I could see was light, and all I could feel was pain. But-but that’s impossible. How could you-?”

“I don’t know.” He runs his tongue over his dry, cracked lips. “All I know is that you were dead but now you’re alive. They hurt you, but God has used your injuries for his own purpose. Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter how you came to be here...all that matters is that you _are_ here now, for a reason.”

It’s bizarre and unbelievable, and she’s still pretty sure that Ben’s trauma and sex addled brain manufactured most of his dream, but deep down inside she _wants_ to believe it’s true. She wants to believe that her mutilation at the hands of Unkar Plutt is just one small step in some great plan for her life, that, even through the chaos, there is something moving through and surrounding her with everlasting light.

“Do you trust me?”

Rey doesn’t know what to do, say, see, anything in this situation, but she finally manages to look at Ben’s eyes. They’re clear, unclouded by pain or medication, and they latch on to her, holding her steady.

“Do you trust me?” he repeats and, despite the still dripping wounds, his voice never wavers. “Do you feel the Spirit pushing you forward?”

She closes her eyes and gives him a small nod. There, again, she feels it, that tug of _something_ on the edge of her mind, more subtle than before but still just as powerful. “Yes. Yes, I feel it too.”

“Then take my hand.”

She feels the familiar tug in her belly the moment her skin touches his, the smell of ozone thick in her nostrils as the world spins around them, _just_ them, the bed and floor and stones in the wall blurring until all she can make out is Ben’s smiling face.

And then suddenly it changes, and it _is_ Ben, but it isn’t. There’s flashes, vague images barely caught by her brain as her eyes remain locked on him, but _not_ him. For a moment he’s clean shaven, face painted almost like a geisha, then she blinks and he’s grinning with a cropped haircut save for a tiny braid trailing over his shoulder, which melds before her eyes into a fuzzy, straw coloured mop propped haphazardly on his head as he stares at her through thick rimmed glasses. Then, she blinks again and there’s angry wrinkles creasing his forehead, haunted sockets framing his glowing yellow eyes, then another blink and black curls rush around his face which is bisected by a gnarled, jagged scar.

Then she blinks again, and it’s Ben, _her_ Ben, staring at her like she hung the sun, moon, and stars. “The Spirit brought us together for a reason. We’re meant for greater things than this.” He grasps her shaking hands in his steady ones and whispers, “Rey. All you have to do is _believe._ ”

So she opens her mind, and just _is_.

All of the tension, all of the pain and stress and worry flows from her body in a rush of pure relief. Not of her own volition, she runs her finger over the gash on Ben’s wrist and breathes, “ _My son, your faith has made you well._ ”

He can only gape as he hears the words. It’s like he’s listening to himself; her mouth is tracing multitudes of unknown sounds and syllables even as he understands her plain as day.  He gets it now, gets why his mother and Uncle Luke were so scared of him before, for the gift of tongues is a great and terrible treasure that very few can understand. And, even more breathtaking, is the burning sensation of her soft digit running over his wound, the fissures knitting themselves back together before his eyes leaving new flesh, smooth and unmarred.

Her brown eyes have gone glassy as she moves, almost in a trance, to press her hands to his bleeding side. There’s a dull ache, not of pain, but more like the soreness of flexing tired muscles that have been idle for too long. It increases to a persistent throb that’s tempered by the warmth of her hands against his bare skin and, yes, he feels a tug and a burn too as new skin crawls across to seal his wound under her fingers.

“Rey,” he whispers, a million prayers on his lips. “How are you doing this?”

But she doesn’t answer, even as the world swirls around them. She’s merely a conduit, an anchor for the Spirit as she kneels at his feet and blesses the punctures there as well. With jittery, half numb fingers, Ben pulls at the knotted sheets tied hastily around his limbs and tugs them free, sensation flooding them in a rush of pins and needles. It’s madness, he knows; the room is crumbling around them as the vision disintegrates like it has so many times before, but a small part of him, only the size of a mustard seed, wants so much for it to be real.

There’s one final brush of her fingers to his forehead before her eyes start to clear. Quickly, he grasps her hand, threading his fingers through hers as if to hold her steady. “Rey,” he pleads again. “Rey, what’s happening? Can you hear me?”

“ _Ben Solo.”_  Her voice could move mountains. “ _Go in peace._ ”

A final gust of mighty wind blows through the tiny bedroom, rustling the sheets and whipping his hair around his face. Rey falls forward, deflated, and Ben catches her in his arms.

His strong, bloodied, but _fully healed_ arms.

He nearly drops her out of shock. He can’t stop the tremors travelling up and down his limbs. His vision is blurring, there’s spots behind his eyes, his lungs are straining to take in air because it actually _happened_ , he’s sitting here, whole, uninjured, not in a trance or a vision but her in real life, and she _healed_ him.

“Rey?”

She looks up at him, her eyes bleary. “W-what?”

He holds up his wrist and she straightens. Immediately her fingers are on him, tracing the spot where his skin was punctured only a minute ago. “H-how...how is this possible? How did it-?”

“I don’t know. I think-I think you healed me.”

“ _What?_ That’s impossible.”

“With God, nothing is-“

“Yeah, yeah, I _know,_ but this is actually...” She inspects his other wrist, his feet, his side. “This is real life, Ben. It’s not a vision...things like this don’t just _happen._ ”

“It didn’t _just_ happen.” He grasps her hands in his. “It’s a miracle, Rey.”

 She takes in a gulp of air. “But...why me? Again?”

“I don’t know. But we have to have faith that this is all part of His plan.” He cocks his head to the side. “Hear that?”

The thin, high wail of a siren is just barely perceptible above the murmurs outside of the room. Ben sighs.

“It’s about five minutes away, at most. If they come in here and see me like this-“

“They won’t.” Rey’s voice is firm, her tremors long discarded. “You said once that you know every way out of this place. Can you get us out now?”

“Yeah, but...I’m _naked_.”

She snorts and jumps up from the bed. Her fingers fly as she yanks open her dresser drawer and files through various swathes of black cloths until she finds a specific bundle, which she flings in his direction. “This is one of Father Luke’s that got put with mine by mistake. I was going to give it back, but now I’m glad I didn’t”

He’s already dressed by the time she’s done with her own clothes. He looks like a monk, or some kind of hippie; Luke’s robes only making it just past his knees with his muddy and bloodstained pants peeking out from the bottom. She tosses him a couple pairs of wool socks, which he pulls on in lieu of any sort of footwear, his shoes long discarded down in the chapel.

She watches him as he kneels on her bed and methodically tugs at the sliding glass of the window. “These were installed in the seventies. I remember my uncle talking with me about how my grandfather always wanted the best...in with the old, out with the new.”

“Sound familiar?” she snarks.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess so. Anyways, the problem with these new, modern windows is that they come apart in pieces. If you just-“ He tugs the glass pane up. “-and gently ease it like so-“ He wiggles it until it pops out of the bottom rail holding it in position. “-they just come out.”

He makes quick work of the remaining three panes until all that’s left is a gaping, metal framed hole to the outside. The wailing siren is louder, almost at the foot of the path it would seem, and Rey feels her already accelerated heart rate pick up to a frantic pace. “So that’s it?”

Gritting his teeth, Ben nods and steps out of the window. The snow crunches under his socked foot and he suppresses a hiss at the rush of cold that floods his toes. Turning back, he reaches a hand out to Rey. “You coming?”

She pauses. Outside, the air is blisteringly cold, the ground pure white with snow. Already the cold has already almost completely invaded the heated sanctuary of her bedroom; she shivers and wraps her sweatered arms around herself in an attempt to stave off the chill. She was so quick to leave, but now-

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye? To your mum, at least?”

Ben’s gaze is steady, but she can see the barest glint of impending heartbreak in the corner of his eyes. “Rey,” he pleads. “Sometimes we don’t get to say goodbye.”

She bites her lip and, with one final look around her first real bedroom, she gathers up her sweater and climbs out the window. Once her hand is in his, Ben takes off across the courtyard at a light jog, not stopping until they reach the sanctuary of the evergreen trees.

Rey turns back to look at the monastery. The gusting wind has already almost completely obscured their footprints, and she can see the bright flashing red and blue of an ambulance’s lights just beyond the gate.

“We should go,” she breathes into the wind.

“Where to?” Ben’s voice is husky, but gentle.

Raising her hands in front of her, she turns them slowly from side to side, surveying them. It seems like a dream, but Ben’s flawless wrists and ankles and side tell a different story. “Do you think I could do it again? What I did in there?”

“I hope so.” He gives her a wry smile. “Because I think my toes are going numb.”

Frowning, she punches him lightly on the shoulder. “It’s a serious question.”

He sobers up. “Honestly, I don’t know for sure, but I think that’s the point. Did you know what was going to happen before you did it?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s it then. I don’t think we have any way of knowing for sure...we just have to believe.”

“Like you said earlier. Have faith.” She nods tightly, and shoves her hands into her pocket. “I know where we need to go now. We need to go back to the junkyard.”

 _Unkar Plutt._ Ben feels his stomach clench. He doesn’t want to go back, _can’t_ go back. Can’t face what he did, what he became in that moment- it’s still too fresh, too real for it to fully heal.

But then he feels that conviction, that unmistakable _burn_ of the Spirit on the edge of his senses, and he knows he can’t turn back. Not now.

Absentmindedly rubbing at his wrists, he nods his head. “Okay. Let’s go.”

The trek down the edge of the mountain isn’t easy on a good day, but in a robe and sock feet it’s downright terrifying. Ben grips Rey’s hand like a lifeline as the traverse the rocky, ice encrusted path, her feet steady and sure even as he wobbles along next to her. Not a moment too soon, and luckily without accident, they reach the small landing where his little black car is parked, now covered in a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow.

He pauses, his heart thudding in his chest as they both stare at the car. “It’s only an hour’s drive away but-“ His voice sticks in his throat, so he clears his throat. “-but I feel like we’re not going to be coming back. Ever.”

“ _These are your first steps_ ,” she breathes, echoing the words he gave her during that initial incident on the mountainside. “This is our first step...together. Are you afraid?”

She looks up at him, and sees the same swirl of emotions on his face that she feels deep in her soul. Anxiety. Trepidation. Fear. Pain.

 _Love_.

“Of course,” he admits. “But there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Cheesy. Not even somewhere with slippers and indoor heating?”

He laughs, a _true_ laugh, one where his mouth opens wide and eyes crinkle at the corner, one that sends a deep booming chuckle through the trees. “Speaking of which, I think my feet are actually numb. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to drive.”

She pauses, arm deep in the snow she’s pushing off of his car. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I won’t be able to feel the pedals.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

“Oh, well I thought you could drive us down.”

“Me? Drive? I don’t have my license, _Ben,_ I can’t drive us down a mountain! I’ve never even driven before!”

“What? Who doesn’t have a driver’s license?”

“People who grew up in a junkyard!”

“Well, can’t you just try? Relax...let the Spirit take over.”

“While I’m driving a car? That’s not how the Spirit works!”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll pray for you.”

Her groan of frustration is even louder than his laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kind words/kudos on the last chapter! Each one is getting harder and harder to write...I don't want to say bye to these guys.  
> As always, please feel free to check out my tumblr (http://saint-heretical.tumblr.com/). I'll be posting previews of my next fic within a week or two :)


	23. Epilogue: Miracle

Anna Lee wasn’t always hurt like this. No, that came later, after the accident that took her mother and her baby sister, but before her father died from disease. He had been a good man, a smart man, but better and smarter men than him had all fallen to the demon the doctors called ‘cancer’ and it wasn’t too long before he too joined them in the grave.

She had been lucky, apparently, to only lose the use of her right leg to another sickness called ‘diabetes’. ‘Lucky’ was a strange word for it, ‘cursed’ would be more accurate because, even though she still lives, she can barely keep up with her own needs, let alone the needs of her two younger sisters. She’s cursed to live a half life, alive but not well, unseen and untouched by any respectable person worth their salt.

Her day starts before the break of dawn. She has to begin early when there’s less competition for the good food and the best clothes. She can’t stay out too long; her leg begins to hurt after ten hours of digging, but that’s usually enough time to find some scraps of edible food and trinkets for her to sell on the street. Not that anyone who actually lives in the city even looks her way, but she’s usually able to sell something to well meaning tourists or missionaries who are all too eager to open their pockets to a round face, bright eyed girl like her.

There’s too many people at the dump to really recognize everyone, but this morning she can tell that something’s amiss. A woman in a plain, light gray dress is picking through trash all by herself, the children and other woman around her giving a wide berth. Anna doesn’t understand what the fuss is about; they’ve never been shy, and it’s not like there’s much personal space to be had, but the others have always been hesitant to mix together with new people.

The woman turns, locks eyes with her, and smiles. “Hello! How are you doing this morning?”

Anna is frozen on the spot, confused about who the woman is speaking to even though she’s staring right at her. She lifts a shaking hand to her chest and stutters out, “You t-talking to me?”

“Yes, yes I am.” The woman’s voice is low and accented. “You’re Anna Lee, correct?”

“Yes, I-“ Anna’s stomach fills with a throbbing sensation of dread. “Is something wrong? Is there something I-?”

The woman’s face falls, and she immediately raises her hands apologetically. “No, no, of course not! I’m sorry for scaring you. I’ve actually come to give you some gifts, if that’s alright with you.”

Anna looks across the massive expanse of the trash dump. “Here? And for me? That doesn’t make any sense.” Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Who sent you?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

The woman leans over the pile in front of her and produces a clear glass jug, etched on the side with red enamelled numbers. She extends it to Anna. “This isn’t one of the gifts, but I thought you might be able to use it. It’s original Pyrex, and it’s pretty much indestructible and prized by collectors if you want to sell it.”

Initial hesitancy forgotten, Anna grabs the dish from the woman and inspects it with her fingers. It’s pristine, unmarred by chips or stains, virtually unheard of in the increasingly picked over junk yard. “This was here? How did you find it?” she asks.

The pale woman shrugs. “I used to be a scavenger once.”

Anna throws the woman another suspicious look. “You have more gifts like this?”

“This isn’t part of your gift,” she explains. “But yes, more like this, and better.”

Anna’s brow wrinkles with confusion. “Is this what you do? Find girls in the junkyard and lure them with the promise of gifts?” Her heart rate quickens, and she blurts out, “I would not be a very good servant.”

The other woman’s eyes widen, and she jumps back, hands raised slightly. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I promise, I’m not going to kidnap you. Not that anything I say could really convince you otherwise.”

She’s flushed and awkward and anything but intimidating, really.

Anna licks her nips nervously and nods. “It’s okay, I believe you.”

The woman’s shoulders slump. “Oh, good. I honestly didn’t want to make things difficult, and I’m really sorry I scared you. I know it seems odd, having some strange woman approach you out of nowhere. I swear, we’ve done this so many times, yet it’s still always so awkward.”

“Who’s _we_?” Anna’s eyes narrow. “And what on Earth are you talking about? What are you doing?”

The woman lets out a slow sigh, her cheeks puffing with the force of her breath. Lips pursed, she looks over her shoulder and nods. Like a shadow, a tall man dressed in dark grey appears almost out of nowhere, slinking up behind the woman until he can place a large hand on her shoulder. He’s so tall; at least a head taller than the woman who is already much taller than Anna. It’s a wonder he was able to stay out of sight for so long.

Anna’s pulse jumps yet again, and her grip on the glass jug tightens as the muscles in her legs tense. Frantically, she looks over her shoulder for backup, but the only people in fighting shape a couple of small boys who back away when they see the man. She’s about to scream until the woman unexpectedly steps forward.

“Anna,” the woman breathes. “I swear to you, we mean you no harm. All I ask is for a quiet spot where I can explain everything and give you the gifts we brought.”

There’s something in the woman’s face, the way her eyes crinkle up and her brow furrows so earnestly, that makes Anna trust her, for some strange reason. Even though the man is still as dark and looming as ever, Anna nods her head, and gestures for the pair to follow her.

Bringing them all the way into her home isn’t the smartest thing, but she can tell from the light in the window that her neighbour is awake next door, and would certainly be able to hear her if she screamed. The man has to bend over to clear her tiny doorway, which makes her giggle despite the seriousness of the situation, but once both strangers are in her tiny home, she sobers up.

She can almost hear her father’s voice in her head, scolding her. “ _What do you think you’re doing?”_ he would yell. _“Why would you think bringing strangers into our home is a good idea?”_ But the woman’s face is so kind, and there’s just something about her that makes Anna feel calm. She’s sure that if her father was with them now, he would totally understand.

The tall man opens up his robe and pulls out several bags of beans and rice, which he deposits on the ground next to her makeshift oven. Next he produces a paper bag containing a wrapped packet of fresh bread and a plastic container of soup. Anna’s mouth waters when she smells the rich yeasty smell.

“There will be plenty left over for your sisters,” the woman says, noticing Anna’s eyes flick to the other girls, still sleeping in their bed.  “We would just like to get to know you first, if that’s alright.

It is, for the most part. Anna answers their questions as vaguely as she can manage. They ask her about her sisters and her work days, and her mother and father too, and the woman’s eyes grow misty when she hears that there are no adults taking care of them.

“Not even an uncle or an aunt?” she wonders.

Anna nods sadly. She doesn’t even know if she has any other uncles or aunts, for the ones she knew about died long ago.

They’re almost finished the meal before she blurts out the question that’s been on her lips since the woman called out her name in the junkyard this morning.

“Why me?”

The woman looks up from her food, her kind eyes crinkled at the edge when she smiles. “Your name was given to us by a fourteen year old girl a town over, who was given to us by a boy who lived just down the street from her. We’ve seen about thirty others around here, though the first name that brought us here was given to us all the way back in Serbia.”

“Serbia.” Anna rolls the foreign word off her tongue around a bite of bread. “Where is that?”

“It’s across the Adriatic Sea from Italy,” the man explains. “Thousands of miles away.”

 “Thousands of miles?” She stares at him, incredulous. “How did you get so far? And isn’t that quite a long distance just to give out bags of beans?”

He laughs, and the sound is a lot kinder than she imagined. It’s deep and sharp, and almost loud enough to wake their little sisters from their slumber. The woman scolds him with a withering look, but he just smirks at her and continues. “Our travelling methods range from stowing away to first class flights. It really depends on the situation and the resources available to us.”

“It’s amazing what shows up,” the woman adds. “And I assure you that it’s not just beans. In America we give out cans of soup and wieners, and in Serbia we give out corn meal.”

“We were in Canada for a month, and had to carry around a case of macaroni and cheese. In the winter too!” The man’s dark eyes twinkle. “I had to get myself a bigger coat.”

“Which brings us to the next gift we have for you.” The woman wipes her buttery right hand off on a handkerchief. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

Anna’s not sure what kind of gift would be minded by the recipient, but one look at the two strangers in front of her makes her wary just the same. Her eyes glance over to her sleeping sisters, then up at the dark haired man. “W-what is it? Does it hurt?”

 The man shakes his head. “It doesn’t, I promise you. All we need is your permission to touch your leg.”

“M-my leg?” Instinctively, she curls in on herself. “Why?”

“Because,” the woman says. “We want to make your leg better.”

Anna’s heart thumps in her chest as she processes those words. Make her better? But that’s _impossible_. She knows several others with the same injury as her, and none of them have been able to make their legs well again. It’s just a fact of life to get used to, and the fact that these people feel like they can come into her life and tease her with such an idea is absolutely horrible.

“Don’t mock me,” she spits.

The woman’s eager expression melts into a look of sorrow, while the man remains stoic. “I’m not mocking you, I swear it,” she pleads. “We’ve been sent here to heal you. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. And I promise, if you want us to stop, just say the word. I know it’s scary.”

Anna purses her lips and frowns. “Fine. But just you.”

She points at the woman, who nods. “I understand.”

Taking in a gulp of breath, the woman places one hand on Anna’s calf and the other in the grasp of her partner, who closes his eyes. The first words out of his mouth are low and deep, and Anna can’t quite make out what he’s saying aside from a few mentions of “ _Father”_ and “ _Spirit,”_ then his voice picks up, goes louder and clearer, but the words are still fractured, making up some language that she has no knowledge of. She tenses, wants to pull herself away, but then the woman’s hand grows warm, and Anna’s leg starts to tingle and itch, and she can smell something electric in the air. She can feel her muscles spasm, but it’s not painful, only slightly unnerving and strange as her tissues knit back over ulcerated flesh.

It takes only a minute, but it feels like an eternity before the man stops muttering and the woman pulls her hand away. Anna flexes the foot then tenses her leg muscles, marvelling at the smooth skin even as her mind struggles to keep up with what’s happened.

“Your diabetes is gone as well,” the woman informs her softly. “You shouldn’t have problems with this again.”

“How-?” Anna shuts her mouth, not willing to make a fool of herself trying to express her shock. It’s a gift, just like they said, even though it’s scientifically impossible and seemingly insane.

“We were told to come to you,” the man explains. “The Spirit called us to heal you.”

“Okay.” She still feels like she’s hallucinating, but can’t help the questions that spill out of her mouth. “Now what? What am I supposed to do?”

The woman laughs. “Well, there’s no rush, but every other time, we’ve received a name from the person receiving the gift. You don’t have to think about it, it should just come.”

Anna’s chest clenches. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Just clear your mind,” the woman urges. “One will come to you, I promise.”

Like an itch at the back of her skull, a name dislodges itself and tumbles from Anna’s lips before she can even think about it. “Amna Ram.”

The woman looks back at her companion, who closes his eyes for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration, then responds, “Mumbai, India. Lost both parents and the use of both legs to polio.”

“On the move again. Well, that’s pretty exciting, all things considered,” the woman says, her voice light with an edge of excitement. “Though it is very far.”

“God will provide,” the man mutters, like he’s said that same phrase a hundred times before.

The woman nods, but even through her excitement Anna can detect a shadow of pain. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?” she wonders.

The woman shakes her head even as a tear glints in her eye. “No, not at all!”

Anna looks over at the man, whose face is taut with sadness and pity. Taking in a deep sigh, he reaches for the woman’s hand and squeezes it in his. “Rey,” he whispers in a voice almost too low to hear. “Are you going to make it?”

The woman, Rey, just nods. Anna can see the fatigue in her eyes, see the dark shadows on her cheeks and the weariness around the corners of her mouth. Even her hands, which are tanned and weathered from work, grip the edges of her shawl just a bit too tightly for comfort.

“Rey.”

The woman’s eyes flick up when she hears her name on Anna’s lips. “Rey,” the young girl repeats. “How long have you been doing this? Travelling like this?”

Rey gives her a weak smile. “Almost five years now,” she says in a voice that carries every minute of those years.

Anna’s mouth opens slightly in shock. “Five years...and you haven’t been home?”

“This is our home,” the man snaps defensively. “There is nothing left for us back there.”

“Ben, it was just a question,” Rey says, her hand giving the man’s arm a squeeze. “I’m sorry; we had a bit of a run in with the authorities in New Mexico, and he’s been on edge ever since. What he means to say is that we’ve committed ourselves to going wherever the Spirit leads us. _Home_ is wherever the Spirit leads us, and we’ve been blessed to be led to many wonderful places and many amazing people.”

“But don’t you have friends? Family?” Anna’s eyes flick back to her home where her sisters are no doubt waking up from their naps. Even the thought of leaving them makes her stomach tense uncomfortably.

“Of course we do, but this is something bigger than our friends or our family.” Rey smiles. “Five years ago, a lot of major things happened in my life, and in Ben’s life too. Wonderful things, and miraculous things, but also some things that were terrible and tragic. We’ve tried our best to move on and heal from that with guidance from the Spirit, but after the first time we did _this_ -“ She gestures her hands to Anna’s leg. “- we knew that there was no going back. This gift is far too big for just one family or one city-“

“-or one church,” the man, Ben, finishes. “And once we had healed that first man, we knew we had to leave because he gave us a name. Just like how you did now, and that person gave us another name, and so on. We realised that we’re called to follow the path on which He leads us, and that others will show us the way.”

“Speaking of which,” Rey jerks her head towards the horizon. “We should probably get going. It’s a long way to Mumbai, and I’m still not sure how we’re going to get there.”

She hunches down until she’s at eye level with Anna, who is staring at both of them like they’re crazy. “Thank you,” she says, her eyes wide with sincerity. “Thank you for opening your home to us.”

Anna rests her hands on her table to lift herself up, her newly healed leg still unsteady. “You’re welcome,” she manages to stutter out. She wants to say more, thank them more, but it seems inappropriate now.

Ben just nods and, with a final look around the space, encircles Rey’s shoulders as they duck out the door and onto the busy street outside. Anna leans against her doorframe and watches their retreating backs, watches him squeeze Rey close as she talks animatedly, watches him kiss the top of her head, watches her grip his hand in hers, watches until they become just a mottled grey blob that disappears in the swirling crowd around them.  

A tug on her pant leg draws her attention down to her little sister, who has clambered out of bed to join her at the door. “Anna, what’s going on,” she wonders, her tiny voice soft with sleep. “Why are you standing on your leg now? I heard people here...what happened?”

Anna smiles. “Something amazing happened,” she says, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

It feels like a dream, save for her new leg and the bags of food on the ground. When her other sister wakes up, once they both have food in their bellies, then maybe she’ll try to explain it fully, even though she doesn’t really understand it either. For now she just shrugs and whispers, mostly to herself, “I mean, it wasn’t just amazing, really. It was a _miracle_.”

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who has supported me as I wrote this beast! All of your comments and kudos have seriously made this one of my most rewarding fandom experiences ever.


End file.
